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".