michaelboy (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
michaelboy) wrote2025-01-11 10:50 am
michaelboy) wrote2025-01-11 10:50 am
The Rest
There was a small place where the concrete storm drain emptied into a small stream valley. It was covered with bits of broken glass, shale-scratched graffiti and my wish to find you. This was near the long red horse barn at the far end of our homemade baseball field.
I was horrible at baseball and was usually picked with a few younger sisters at the end of the draft with a phrase that sounded something like "and you can have the rest". But I mowed the infield and the baselines and even limed the lines. It was an immaculate neighborhood work of art as far as I was concerned. I have always been driven to make places and paths.
Years later, I ran a small bulldozer and did most of the fill work in the valley. With that, the small place was gone with everything emptying into white.
I was horrible at baseball and was usually picked with a few younger sisters at the end of the draft with a phrase that sounded something like "and you can have the rest". But I mowed the infield and the baselines and even limed the lines. It was an immaculate neighborhood work of art as far as I was concerned. I have always been driven to make places and paths.
Years later, I ran a small bulldozer and did most of the fill work in the valley. With that, the small place was gone with everything emptying into white.
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