Tomorrow is the election. The weather forbodes, slashing sprinkles everywhere at all minutes of the day. Will I have an elated daughter or a dejected son? Will I face my choice and darken in the Democratic circle? Will I stop talking in questions after tomorrow? Perhaps the third party is the way to go, like through a field instead of taking two marked, well-known, established roads?
Speaking of fields, here I am, fieldfleur, and I haven't been to one for a long time. At least not a southern field. A couple of weeks ago my son and I tromped through a central Missouri one because we found a creek that we decided to get a closer look at.
We went through soybeans and briars, and we arrived at the steep bank which was covered with roots, stray beans, and mud. We went down, and we didn't stop. The mud was slime; the slime was snotty-slick, and we slid. I stopped on a root. Cody was in the water's edge. I decided to laugh at him in order to waylay his frantic anxiety.
"Ha, ha [more natural laugh than this], you're stuck! Just lift your foot up and climb on out, Mountain Goat! What an adventure!"
But, he continued crying wildly, screaming, "Help! Help me! I hate this farm! Help!"
I laughed out of anxiety some more, but he really was stuck. To retrieve him, I slid down the dark mud into the water, and it was then I realized that the snotty-slick mud sloped steeply down in the creek, and I was up to my thigh already before I lunged for the bank.
No more humor.
Somehow, I got behind him, fastened my foot sideways into the mud, and hoisted him up. My arm and legs were wet with water in the cool fall day. Yet, I felt like I was in a survival mode. Cody grabbed onto a root, and with intense coaching made it up behind a tree, nearer to the open field above. I crawled up on my knees and hugged a couple of trees before I made it out.
The rest of the day, we would retell our drama to one another. "Yeah, I couldn't believe it." "We were lucky we made it." "I never want to go to a creek around here anymore." "Me neither."
A trip down south to the Ozarks is way overdue. I'm getting a bit better on the mandolin. The trees are dropping, swirling, their leaves. Mom and Dad are waiting and bored for children. The fields are shedding, piece by piece, the brown weeds. It would be a wonderful, refreshing walk outside away from the world.
We'll see .........