The Country Road

We went for a walk – about four or five miles or so.  This is what we saw.  This is why we stress: pay attention to detail.  There is much to see in life if you will only pay attention to detail, and the smallest things.

This is an old country road, covered in sand and gravel and dirt, rolling on clay across gentle green hills, studded with trees and pine.  We used to live in ‘country’ but now they have built all around us.  There is not much ‘country’ left and I have to walk a half mile just to get to this thing we are missing; this thing called ‘country and nature and things’.

We saw where they were building new buildings.

We saw a blackberry bush with blackberries.  There were only three we could eat.  The rest were covered in road dirt and construction dust; therefore were unable eat.  They would not be safe.

One of the blackberries had grit inside.  This reminds me of me.

We saw fields and woods and many wild flowers; there were purple and gold and blue.  Many of the blue ones were quite beautiful, we would stoop to examine them in detail – never bothering them; just looking.  They have their right and fight for life too.  There was queens lace and angel lace – the small blue-white’s reflecting the sky – the even smaller pinpoints of blue – something similar to sage, only different.  Tall ones, those.

We saw much honeysuckle.  But the nectar was bad; we didn’t even bothering to taste.  We could see it they were covered in dirt and road dust; and simply looked BAD.

During all our travels today we saw not one bee.  Not a single one.  Anywhere.

There was one little beautiful nest of flowers growing on a spiny plant; very small.  They looked like orchids; yellow and white – and so very small.  About as big as the end of my finger.

There were old buildings and such – just a few – and some of them were falling down.  Me again.

We heard a jackass braying (a donkey, folks) – he wasn’t just braying, he was screaming for help.  We listened for a while; he was in some distant field; we couldn’t see what was going on.  We didn’t stop to help him and eventually he must have calmed down, for we heard him no more on the return from our walk.

We saw much trash.

We saw an electric fence; freshly strung – about a year ago, I figure, studying the ground around where the posts had been sunk.  They were tall and black and beautiful, and the wire was white all around.

They raise horses there; out on the country road – in some places, that is.

Wandering on (growing quite tired, but ending before we got to the goal in sight in our mind, we continued on, carrying our stick – our cane – for those moments when we would grow weak.)

We walk like an old man now; no longer Soldier strutting.  And we looked around.

We saw many dead 13 year cicadas.  Their wings are amber and gold. Many were just that: a thorax, and those amber gold wings of theirs.

We saw an old tree that reminded us of our parasol trees; it was in full bloom, but the flowers were white and the tree spindly.

That’s when we noticed no bees.  And we looked for them VERY hard, for our yard was full of bees come this spring.  Where have they all gone?  We listened for their humming (a sound that fills the air around my house come spring) – but nothing.  Just the birds chirping and the occasional sound of a rushing car.

We came to the end of our journey – but the waterfall was not there.  It has been overgrown by trees and bush where they lumped the dirt over there.  You can see nothing right now.  Maybe come winter.  And even then, it will be difficult going.

There was a sign now marked “No Trespassing”

We turned around coming back.  This is up a hill.  We needed our stick then.  We didn’t use it all the time.  Using a cane is hard; it takes energy.

We stopped at a creek (on the other side of the road as the waterfall that once was – you can hear it’s gently rushing if you listen closely, somewhere beyond the weeds.)  We thought about sitting down, but we didn’t.  We just stood and stared.  Resting for a moment if you will.  There was a sweetgum freshly fallen across the creek.

Did I tell you about the dragonflies?  We saw darters, blue and green.

We tried to coax a butterfly out of the road for several minutes.  He wouldn’t listen.  I hope he didn’t get run over.  Free choice and all.  He was drab brown with spots on his wings.

Looking in the ditch we say many things.  One was flecked in gold and silver mica flakes.  We slowed, watching them glitter and glisten.  It was very pretty – like a woman’s necklace, even better – you had to look for these things: the glistening silver and gold.  And there were lots of them.  Buried in the red clay of the sand topped bank, overhung with weeds and plenty of flowers to go all around.

But not one bee.  Not a single one to be found nor heard; and we stretched our hearing loud.

We came across a dead possum.  He was covered in dust and red clay.  He was becoming part of the road, methinks we thinks.

We saw two cans of energy drinks.  They were crushed and empty.  Feels like me sometimes, especially today.  Except I am filled with love and happiness, and there is beauty inside from what I’ve seen, as well as the other ones (the bad things and the nasty things.)

We found a broken wrench in the road.  We picked it up.  It may come in useful at home.  Probably not.  There isn’t anything there we care about fixing except our own selves.  Walking further on, we found the other half; torn, bent, and rusted.  I stuck that in my pocket, too.  They were both same and part of the same wrench.  We notice those kinds of things.

We found a spine; rolled.  Nothing else: just a spine along the road.  Wonder who that belongs to.  Some small creature of course.

We were wavering and thought of flagging down a truck.  But we knew: we were too tired to say “I” and would slip into the form of we.  And we would say “Hey, we are tired, can you give us a ride to the next corner?” (about a half mile away.).  And they would go, leaving us spinning in the dust; frightened in their eyes.  This represents society to me; so many things do, including those empty cans.

We saw black and white birds taking off and landing on a fence.  They were beautiful birds.  At first I thought they were woodpeckers, but as I walked by I could see their beaks aren’t built for that.  They are insect catchers.  We know that sort of thing; almost all things about wildlife and such.

We saw plenty of deer track.  This is because all the predators are gone, save one – man.  And he’s not doing his job of keeping things straight anymore.

We rescued a small dark beetle struggling in the gravel in the road.  Those rocks must have looked like mountains to him.  He was in the center of a tire track.  There was nothing else to do but rescue his tiny butt.  He was needing it before he could get run over.  In someways we saw ourself in that beetle.  We see ourselves in lots of things nowadays.  There is reason and reason and reason behind all that; it is god’s doing in our mind, our supposing: showing us: ‘I am all around, and even inside you.’  I reckon that’s a good thing, there.  It keeps us from dying and comforts us knowing we will – and he’s gonna be there to catch us.  Like a child catching butterflies to release in golden fields.

The drivers we saw were all busy; intent on their faces; looking IN while looking OUT and seeing nothing of what went by.  This is usual for them and I feel sorry for them, while inwardly scolding their selfishness.

We saw a beautiful bluebird – bluer than the sky; bluer than blue.

He was covered in ants.  Dead as they come, covered in these little pesky things that come take care of the dead of forest and stream.  Fire ants: the worst ones.  Turning him over we saw they’d eaten a hole in his heart.  For some reason this makes me sad; thinking of so many I have known.

We were very tired now; coming on back home: the last stretch visible ahead.  Two school buses went by.  On the first one two teenage schoolgirls were hanging out the window talking.  They had interesting but vacant faces and even more empty eyes.  They saw nothing while looking over everything, I suppose.  Perhaps they even saw me.

I saw a cop car passing by.  I was tempted to flag him down and ask for a ride – but I fear the ride he might give me wouldn’t home.  So we let him go unmolested.

I saw two bent spoons in the grass.  I guess I know what they are for.  I didn’t check to see if the bottoms were burned.  You only know this by one thing: having been there.

I saw where a dog had pooped underneath a neighbor’s mailbox.  That seemed strangely appropriate.  We saw more dog poop in that yard, but that under the mailbox seemed “just right”, like it meant a thing – and we sometimes know what we are thinking.

At our mailbox was only a circular.  It smells of fresh cut pine.

We had trouble getting up the stairs.  There are only three of them.  We were almost too tired to tell the dog to (fondly) ‘shut up and quit barking, you silly dog.  It’s just me!”  She quieted and then the other one, my daughter’s one, heard and barked.  So we told him it was okay, too: just no one here; just me.  As usual.  Going around.

Walking in the house we checked the phone.  “Zero messages” “Zero calls missed”.  This is normal and usual.  We don’t miss the calls I think; and though we get lonely, we are never alone, for in me are many and we are called “we”.  We take comfort in that thought; knowing we’re never alone – in so many ways, my friend.

It was a wonderful walk, but quite tiring.  We need to walk more often; build up for this spring and summer (but a voice in my head – quite alarmed! – is saying ‘spring has almost passed!”)

If so, then where are the bees.  I’m wondering where all the bees have gone.  They were once my friends.

(too tired to tag and bag.  and no we haven’t finished our soup.  I wonder if we have … but I know: it’s there.  Waiting.  But I’m too tired to eat the thing.  Maybe sometime later.)


About jeffssong

JW is an adult childhood abuse survivor with DID*. He grew up in a violent family devoid of love and affection. He is a military brat and veteran. He no longer struggles with that past. In 1976 JW began writing "The Boy". It took 34 years to complete. It is currently on Kindle ( ), or if you prefer hard copy, on Amazon ( JW resides somewhere in the deep South. He is disabled and living with family. Note: Please feel free to take what you need; all is free to all. With that in mind, keep it that way to others. Thank you. We have 3 Blogs - One for our younger days, 0-10 (The Little Shop of Horrors); one for our Teen Alter and his 'friends' (also alters) with a lot of poetry; and finally "my" own, the Song of Life (current events and things)
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