Symbolism

This morning I ran the 4.7 mile loop to the north of the farm again. I met a man picking up cans in the ditch. He had with him two strikingly beautiful Huskies on long leashes.




Most of the homesteads on the loop are abandoned now, the houses falling in on themselves. The one at the fourth turn leading into the home stretch is occupied, however, and well maintained. A young man and his son were in the grove sawing up wood. Just after I made the turn the breeze out of the southeast was so heavy, so redolent, with the scent of that newly cut wood that it brought tears to my eyes. But then the chain saw cranked up again with its sharp whine. The very instrument that produced that wonderful odor then despoiled the whole effect.

I ran the last mile emotionally iced over.

[Here's a hint. I am terribly proud of the symbolism in that little piece. Country boys usually have a tough time with symbolism.]