It was a 5×3 foot piece of heaven, hanging from fat, rusting chains.
tweet thisFiled under: Deep South, Everyday, faith, family, health, life
Instinctively, I want to say that I have an irrational phobia of horses. But, I realize, when compared next to my other, legitimate phobias like being hit by lightning, or ingesting glass - it isn't quite that severe. So, it's more like a healthy fear and respect for horses that I have, right up there along the lines of my fear of flying...i.e., I can do it, but I don't like it. I can't believe I'm going to say this, but I blame my Annie for this fear of horses - there have been two aunts in my life that I loved so deeply...
I drank it as if it were holier than Coke.
Hold on, now. Don't think I'm crazy, entirely, but I have on three separate occasions dreamed things that have then occurred. In actual life. The first involved a childhood pet, Scruff, who had gone to live with my grandparents at Fish Camp, a family compound surrounded my cabins, ponds, a basic swimming pool, and a torturously long vegetable garden, where we gathered each summer for a fish fry and the annual task of grading blueberries and other such fruit; several on my father's side were in the fruit farm industry; after an afternoon of grading blueberries, there is no child on...
I don't actually sleep very well, without you, except sometimes.
Although I hate being sick, I will admit to loving the way my voice sounds when I get congested. It's deep, it's sexy, raspy, as if I've actually been a smoker for many years, and on a dare, decided to smoke an entire pack at one time, before quitting. I feel like I'm nasally the love child of Bea Arthur and James Colburn. At least, in my mind, that's how I sound. In reality, I'd told be the love child of Bea Arthur and Charles Nelson Reilly, everybody knows that.
Advertise With Us
