Tuesday, July 27, 2004


Spent a few days up in the “wilderness” a week back, and unlike those thin doormats you see at the discount store, those suckers are real pretty.  The trees, I mean.  Real pretty.  The trees.  Rugged, absorbent, partial to rhythm and blues, they make nice companions when you’re sipping your fifth tequila sunrise.  If only I knew how to barbeque better.  But the trees, they don’t mind a crisp fillet.  Real crisp.  The fillet, I mean.  No sir, the trees remain steadfast in their steadfastedness.  If only I could be as strong and weatherproof as my bark-covered brethren.  But I get tired standing after awhile, and I need to sit a spell.  Sometimes I fall asleep quick.  I often dream of cedars and maples and plantation grown hardwood in the Adirondack tradition.  When I wake up, usually its dark out, which means I have to hurry up and take down the flag.  Those VFW guys down the way are real hard-asses about that stuff.       

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