Mundane Doesn't Describe It

For the slackatudinally challenged.

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Location: United States

I have never taken any exercise except sleeping and resting. Mark Twain, Hard work doesn't harm anyone, but I do not want to take any chances. - Unknown, I am retired and have tried to do as little as possible - slowly. Me.

Thursday, June 15, 2006

The Sliding Tree

I told a friend when you have writer’s block to write something nonsensical. I decided what better advice could I give myself. So begins the Tale of Sliding Tree.

It was a tree just like any other, but it was the boy’s tree. It was outside his mother’s kitchen window and she would watch him for hours climbing up and down the tree, hanging upside down with his bent knees keeping him in place. When his mother wasn’t looking he would start to swing back and forth trying to pick up speed so he could do that one flip to the ground that always he seemed to miss. This was his place and he knew every branch and every leaf.

During days when he was at school he would dream of being up in his tree. Towering over the roofs and seeing people walking under him, not knowing he was there. He was up in the tree as he was every morning and said hello to Mr. Smith as he was walking by. Mr. Smith stopped and looked around. Seeing no one he begins to walk away. Now the boy says in a louder voice, hello. Mr. Smith stops again and looks from side to side, and just once he looks straight up also. Not seeing anything again Mr. Smith sets off, but this time the boy doesn’t yell, he says softly, but loud enough for Mr. Smith to hear the whisper, be good, be good.



Mr. Smith leaves with a smile on his face and says to himself "little monkey." The boy doesn’t have to see the smile because he knows it's there. The boy finally scrambles down and goes into his house for breakfast. His mother is running around the kitchen cleaning the table from people who have already eaten and putting fresh plates on the table. His brothers and sisters are grabbing things from the table as they are getting ready for school. The boy eats slowly while looking out the window at his tree. His mother comes up behind him and places her hands on his shoulders and ask, “Did you say good by to your father this morning.” The boy says, “Yes Mam, and he was smiling.”

The boy has grown up and the tree and house are gone, but his memory of a daily good by between his father and him lives on. He’ll say to himself, “be good, be good little monkey” and it always brings a smile to his face.

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