I appreciate a good fist fight between two folks, both right, both lacking stamina and both willing to say they might have been wrong.
I remember my hands smelled like my father’s aftershave after steering the old Scout.
The day ain’t never done before plenty of hard work. That’s never changed.
To see it now, broken down. The nails in the stems of the trees. The ripped billows, sheets stolen for our hammocks. The pails, dry but ready just in case of a fire.
Far and away. The lake and mountains. The flood and riverbanks.
It’s hard to imagine what we imagine now.