Mix Of Perception

Six feet from below the surface there was discernment about the American farmer not getting any acknowledgement when all was said and done.

Born ticked Lymebyrd floated through life putting on a nice show despite claiming the allowance received paid just the bills. Looking down at the fields from the Golden Gate a forgiving attitude found hearty space when the old man started to appreciate the beautiful landscape.

“It was truly fabulous,” Lymebyrd took a second reflecting upon the sentimental resting place, “our silver oak,” noting the family tree.

Suddenly, the polished metal entry way opened revealing an honest feeling not needing any egotistical bragging about being wealthy or a champion.

Observing the brightness Lymebyrd put out his hand greeting a vision whose mature age seemed to be filled with knowledge. “Four years and it was over,” the energy pulse twinkled reading a scripted biography, “you were the King of Speed, a winner.”

Remembering the memory Lymebyrd dropped any distrusting feelings, “you wanna ear RIP, you claiming I was a winner?” Acknowledging this lonely transition.

Stillness followed the question asked, “I will admit getting a nice payoff after the legendary Shanghai Fantasy trip, it was a good show, but that did not make me a winner.”

From out of nowhere a thunderous cloud invaded the judge mental setting followed by water streaming down. Lymebyrd pointed a finger to two children using the special tall timber protector as shelter from the rain and the sibling’s plight seemed soothed by the in-climate weather.

“Yes, we are going to have a good crop this summer,” was the dialogue death heard, “we will make enough money for Grand Pappy's grave marker.”

“No, death, that is what Lymebyrd has to show for his life.”

Like a magician waving a wand there was a colorful rainbow tapestry painted on the grey skies. And at the end Lymebyrd found riches filled with eternal comfort explaining everything was in the almighty’s hands leaving not a worry.