Chasing Silence and Solitude
It was early autumn on a solemn made-in-heaven afternoon
across the gravel road through a muddy field, up the hill along
a narrow trail that leads to a creek not far from a bayou called
Cassidy where the wild fern grows* and where I was baptized
at the age of 10. My dog would occasionally run upon a rabbit that always presented a chasing adventure that never ended with
a catch of the rabbit that must have found his greatest amusement
each time he was pursued by my best friend Jack, who also seemed to have gotten more pleasure in his rabbit-chase than anything we ever did together, even inclusive of sitting quietly by the bayou for hours as our world of silence and solitude was passed over by the world of noise and work.
071320PS *Inspiration: While I was sleeping, I kept hearing, "Where the wild fern grows".
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