Tater and Junebug
A perfect radiant day of golden complexion infused the Jefferson brothers to travel down the narrow path, a mile from their home to the Ebb Water Creek.
Their goal to hook a line of catfish was prevalent to place on the family table.
A necessary task, one that they were willing to seek.A task that would be ongoing throughout the week.
Willie earned the moniker Tater for his ravenous appetite for potatoes.
Jessie had an impinging nature to tie the hind legs of a Junebug with, thread. Thereby Jessie and the Junebug became kindred.
It was a fiery bold era in which hate and injustice were inscribed in the evil souls of many men and in the most pathetic way, they were men who were entrenched in their own social inadequacy and ignorant to the fact they were not free. On this perfect radiant day of golden complexion, Tater and Junebug were sobering spirits of liberty.
The thought of the fishes jumping up to catch the insects on the surface of the Ebb Water Creek; to them would indeed be a promising day.
EXtremely happy were they. To hear birds singing as they flew from tree to tree, laying their eggs in straw beds. Various feathery creatures were in sunny flight over their heads.
They breathe in the glorious scents of wildflowers of splendid species and colors that rested under the shade of tall trees.
Their anxious steps along the narrow path lifted their contentment to many degrees. Yet, before the morning sun, something happened in this enchanted thicket. Something wicked. Something ominous lays ahead near the end of their path. Something of grave aftermath.
Down the narrow path, they begin to slowly take.
With high spirits by wonderment that was quick on the uptake.
Pass the purple berry scoke.
Just a few feet away is a lustrous elm with a long-reaching limb.
A limb that is supporting something grim.
Something so grim that it would sting their innocent hearts.
Something fully-fledged from the blackest of hearts.
At first, the sun blinded them from such atrocity.
From such blatant affair of iniquity.A gray cloud curtain the sun.
Yet they were able to see the wickedness that was done.
In the magic of the enchanted forest. Reveals the secret there barest.
The birds stop with their cheerful songs. The locust chorus sang along.
The air was still. The only sound was Tater's and Junebug's loud shrills.
At the sight of the young boy that weighs down the mighty limb of the elm tree so rigid and still.With restored will for retreat and will callus bared feet.
Copyright © Mary E.W. Stephenson | Year Posted 2021
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