Hark! Mother Goddess!

~
Quixote’s Garage
~
2008
~

Come dawn, I button down the tent and head out on my favorite deer trail, by and by must hit the highway down below and hike along side by side with hydro-carbon society.  Framed ´tween the big trees, winding around mile after mile, slithers the traffic.  In town, I stagger onward, joints creeking, blood clotting, a poor little bum seeking repose in a stuffed chair of Quixote´s Garage.

Once there, I fill a cup full of steamy-hot day-old coffee, heady & thick & free. And drink it down. Hmm hmm good. Ahhhhhhh…

“So Chris, a lot of people around here are beginning to believe you´re the personification of the Mother Goddess on Planet Earth. Chris, could this be true, you think?”

This is what I think about saying to the lean-bean hearty-spleen bounty-hunter babe in charge of this place. But I don´t say it. I have not the courage, or the energy.

“So Chris, why don´t you organize the homeless to do a corn-dance on the courthouse lawn ~ to show our appreciation to the community for all they have done for us?  We could try mimmicking the Pueblo Indians in Santo Domingo.”

Aye! Just another un-voiced thought of I who am drained of gumption by the long long walk into town. I drain my cup, get up, fill it again, and fall back down into the comfortable chair. Ah, this one rocks, slowly rocks, back n´ forth, back n´ forth, squeeking…

from

Cloyd Campfire

alias

Rawclyde!

~

Man of La Mancha

1972

~

Going To Prescott

http://bakdezerttrail.yolasite.com/chapter-sixteen.php

~

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About Rawclyde!

I have employed a few pen names throughout the years. Rawclyde with an exclamation mark (!) is the one too sticky to go away...
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