Station Walk

It was a long walk from the cottage to the station.

The cicadas chirped and the humidity clenched Country Boy’s lungs as he hurried to the in the interim of evening and night.

Scuffed up sneakers, worn by time and needless scratching on sidewalk corners.

The scene – as set by time:

Bright lights don’t do well for country boys whose souls lie in forests, listening to mountainous whispers and secrets.

Do you know the secrets of the mountains over yonder?

Hungry stomachs don’t.

Leaving the suffocating station and the journey to the convenience store continues.

Sidewalk glances at the “rag-tailed loner”, who truly justs loves nature, misunderstood by city-folk, who’s lives revolve around revolving and the unstoppable.

 

The Unrested judging the Peaceful.

 

He doesn’t care. He doesn’t visit often anyway.

 

Country Boy, why did you leave home?

 

Once a city hustler yourself – left behind when times a changed early in life, careers abandoned by burned out executives – jobless ones who finally became parents in their freedom.

One parent slipped into eternal rest, the other simply learned how to live. The surviving Executive learned to rest in order to live, rather than work themselves into the grave.

 

Country Boy where is home?

 

Flashing lights once a norm, now hurt your de-sensitized eyes. Certainly, you’ve changed.

Once agitated by change – ironically used to the hustle and bustle – a grinding pace felt like poison. Others excited to hear of City Boy’s tales.

Students know nothing; learning from those they deem their teachers, just as the teachers can be misinformed as well.

Pained from the shifts of life, City Boy blurted out tales – not stories.

 

Eventually – distrusted.

Left behind, those around – disgusted.

 

City Boy’s pains were great with maternal loss.

Over time, a change. A transformation not unlike that of a butterfly.

City Boy’s cocoon surrounded him – the comfort of family, and love on a boy as sharp as broken glass.

It took time and a molding of heart, but soon a new figure arose.

Gone was the young boy with edges sharp enough to cut anyone in range.

Now, a mellow, softer man stood in his place.

His core was the same. Lively, intrigued, curious – a storyteller, not a taleteller.

The man had learned would the boy could not – “to rest the soul fuels the body and mind.”

 

But so do Cheetos and nachos from the store.

“Cash or Card, please…”

 

 

 

 

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