Henry's Bucket

Henry’s Rust Bucket He had managed the steep rise from a valley to his home and sat on the small stoep. Another koppie towering ahead, he looked straight forward and counted his blessings. One, by one he wrote a list of thanksgivings, carefully folded the scraps of paper, then crumbled them up and darted them into a corroded pail of collection. Always a good shot, it filled. A little water still in the bucket, ink smudged and ran its course as thoughts nudged each other and the sludge pot thickened. Soon it was far more full than half empty, the cache of paper-mache almost burst from its seams. When memos and ‘done it’ notes oozed through a hole at the bottom, scraped through and lifted his mood and the bucket, Henry the cooper hardly kept up with the fill. The tub rose and time passed so slowly that it turned in rebuttal, as the container had been really a scuttle for carbon and coal, a near enough copy to hold passion and fire. So, elevated and so imposing it became that it shaded the koppie. ‘Enough is enough’, I must move on and rise to occasions. Remember the past and the present.’ Thus, he changed perspective and stood on the bucket. It still had a hole and his steps had gone rusty, but now he could touch the mountains again. Henry had so much to be grateful for, even with a half empty bucket, that just one or two ‘post it’s’ would have surely sufficed. ‘Never late than not ever’ he exclaimed, ‘I must fix the hole in my bucket, gratitude list will only get me so far’. Contest New Year 2018 A Better Production Sponsor Kim Rodriques