Purple's Platitudes

nothing but words …

squirrelly

15 February 2014

 

 

Dog days of summer, to the first snowfall, I tagged along, happily kicking leaves

and wandering after my own distractions, trying unsuccessfully to ignore

my grandpa’s endless teachable moments. He knew everything it seemed,

and often, it took us longer to get where we were going than it did

to do what we came to do, which was collect nuts.

Mostly, we gathered hickory and horse chestnuts by the bagfuls, or

sometimes we’d fill an old bushel basket if he thought together we could

drag it back to the house. He used to reward me, a quarter for every bag

I filled. One lesson I remember well, was when I removed the leather gloves

and tried to pick up the chestnuts barehanded. The gloves were too bulky

and cumbersome for my tiny hands and I thought I knew how to get the job

done better without them. Let’s just say I learned to listen to grandpa’s

wisdom after a little blood, a few tears, and a lot of pain. We trekked into

the woods each year to gather nuts, but for the life of me I cannot

remember ever doing anything with them afterwards. Grandpa was like

a squirrel, gathering, storing them away, perhaps forgetting all about them.

Then again, maybe it was never about the nuts anyway.

 

 

Time spent together,

time not wasted after all,

just gathering nuts.

 

 

 

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15 February, 2014 - Posted by | Poetry | , ,

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