Aches & Pains

the pasture at grandpas (800x600)

The pasture at the Capps farm hasn’t changed very much in over the 100 years that our family has owned this land. Of course the meanest bull known to man, our Roosevelt, is no longer there, as he went to graze the fields of Bull Heaven sometime in the early 1960’s, but the pond and the old weathered tree still remains. the fence has been replaced and looks straight today whereas when I was a kid it was anything but straight!  This ‘found picture’ brings back lots of good memories of summer hot and dusty red clay roads and farm life.

 

Aches & Pains — a Poem by mary louise wehunt

I was warned by my grandmother years ago 
That my youthful limberness would get up and go, 
Depleted — replaced with aging’s aches and pains,
Oh, how I snickered at her warnings of abated limberness;
 

Embarking on a free-fall away from her warnings to guard against that which was coming;
I bend straight down from my waist with unbend-ed knees, to the floor, quite pleased; 
and I twisted in any direction I could twist; ignoring her words — be careful, 
please, undo before it is done what you are doing to your skeletal of one.

 
In my limber state I had two thumbs, eight fingers and many digits of toes
attached to wrists and ankles that allowed for the climbing of trees, allowed me
to go up and over fences and across any hill or up and down any steep mountain I pleased, 
Agreeable limberness, at thirteen, took me running across pastures of sage and lime green.
 
A heavily sodded pasture grandmother warned against ever entering;
And, the same beckoning pasture grandfather forbid me from entering; but
I listened to their pleas about the pasture less than I listened on limberness lost
if I continued my bending and stooping in unnatural ways.

Then in unison the time sped up while falling shorter;
the walks became less as my hair grayed lighter — to white 
I no longer bent with ease from the waist, low to the floor, —  limber lost,
less agile, less limber — less like the girl who ran from Roosevelt, the pastured bull!
 
The day I ran from Roosevelt, I was thirteen and I was a fine example of — agility and limberness;
I hopped over a slightly drooping barb-wire fence and stuck my tongue out at his meanness — in a dare;
Would I dare be so sassy today, to enter the forbidden pasture, I fear I’d be subjected to a whole body hug from Roosevelt;
My chance to prove myself brave to cousins and any humanitarian rights of youthful passage to older and wiser — spoiled
 
I should have listened by my Grandmother on both accounts! 

 ***(copyrights 2013)***

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