A Note for Friends
Mine friend come of the mountains one summer when the trees were wet
from rain and the road into the hills was a series of puddles and ruts.
He came down in a wagon and it was a great labor for him to reach the
town square, and always we could see him coming and sometimes stopping
to free his wagon from mud.
Once it was very much tilted and we all
worried, but we were all relieved to see it righted.
Mine friend’s horse was golden colored and later in the afternoon there
was sunshine and the horse was brilliant to us, where we watched it
laboring far up on the road.
We’ve since gone back to our duties, but always some will stop at the town
square and look long up the road to the hill and see how he has gotten
closer. Still the puddles have not dried out and the ruts are so
deep and it is a great labor for him to always be coming along, up
there on the road out of the hills.
Mine friend come of the mountains with a wagon stacked tall with
mountain corn, which he wants sold so he can make a life for his family
back in the hills. Mine friend come of the mountains ever in labor,
struggling and sad, breaking his horse and determined and futile with
his corn, weeping on the long road before our eyes. Out of our reach.
Mine friend closed his eyes and sat once too, by the long road up into the
hills. Maybe he thought about turning around to at least feed the corn
back before it had spoiled, but it would never have worked he knew.
Mine friend who knew the road to be so long and only having one
lifetime to make it either home or back into the town.
what a choice for mine friend to weigh…
But he tries, he tries.
To bring corn, to make a life for his family.