I didn’t take the time this week to share any ponderings or integrative thoughts, but I had so much fun last week with writing for the Flash Friday Fictioneers that I decided to write a piece of fiction for this photo. So if you are following my blog with my integrative thinking, stay tuned, and if you want to read a little fiction that I wrote this week, please enjoy.
A crusty marshmallow! That’s what he was. Look at his property. “A man’s heart is known by his possessions,” those were his words, not mine.
He was a man of few words – really few anything. He used to scare the daylights out of me. One day when I was a kid, my brother dared me to climb on “the old man’s” tractor. (He was really Grandpa Joe to us, but everyone, including us called him Old Man.)
So, yeah, he caught me on his tractor. I was about seven, I think. I heard this shrieking whistle. I looked up and there stood the Old Man, cigar in mouth, leaning up against the fence post. I knew that flick of his head. Time couldn’t go slow enough. I climbed down and began that torturous trek to meet him. He never moved, except to take that periodic puff. Not sure why I was so damn scared. I got to him and looked up. He gave me that look, shook his head a time or two, and pushed me aside with that final dismissing brush of his jaw-never a word said, but I knew.
The Old Man’s gone now. I’m left with his possessions. Somehow it is ok, ’cause I got a piece of that crusty marshmallow’s heart.