Patricide and the Secret Garden
A present
I was going to write a post called "Patricide and the Secret Garden" about fathers and sons drawing lines in the dirt and taunting the other to step across, the glimmering charm of imagined violence, of secret gardens where giants scabbard their rage.
Trust me, it was going to be epic....poetic and moving, with me as the slighted hero in the center of it all. A real throat punch for you, sweet reader.
Suddenly, No.........why give energy to a story that no longer serves?
Let me be of service now, in this life, at this moment.
Take my neighbor's rusted wheelbarrow in my dump run.
Leave the canvas shoes that never fit at the coffee shop for the languid Swede with feet even bigger than mine.
Check on the Airbnb guests arriving today.
Follow the thru line of love in a note to Christine.
Colin "Reporting from the Present" Cook