You Can Count on That!
You Can Count on That August came in and I welcomed her with aching muscles from the previous day loading things that had been in my ninety year old mother’s barn so long they had forgotten how to rust. They decided they had no more strength to fight the cockroaches and the fish bait worms. They made room in their decaying existence for things that lived. They bowed out knowing that they had given a reprieve and a home for life, unappealing as it may have seemed. The rusted shelving and the rotted doors, buckets of Christmas lights hiding for years with no interest from anyone glared at us. The buckets of long forgotten Christmas lights that had not shined for baby Jesus in decades: one of them had accumulated instead a rather humongous frog that just wanted to live out his days in the bucket croaking and living in stagnant water; it’s skin a red hue which had absorbed the rusty looking water, comfortable with the pungent and offensive smell, but annoyed by o
