Good Morning Gentle Readers,
Jim was a good friend and a fellow traveler. He was godfather to my children and I've missed him since he left us this day, eight nine* years ago. I've often thought that this kind of explains his life.....and his passing.
And, although he'd driven that stretch of Middle Road a thousand times, he couldn't find his way home that bleak winter night.
God knows why he dragged hisself off of Bob and Rochelle's couch in the middle of the night. Maybe he was outta smokes, maybe he just wanted to go home. He didn't have any business behind the wheel and no good came from it, neither. It isn't always the other guy that ends up dead.
There's your patch of snow on the ground and the telephone pole where the reaper called his name. The red rose in the black mud is Rochelle's and mine.
You can't tell from the picture, but the road is treacherous in places. Even in summer. Or maybe that's just my opinion as an out-of-towner.
Jim was real sweet on a blond chick who was stuck in a bad marriage going nowhere but downhill. Sometimes I wonder what her crazed husband whispered in Jim's uncaring, unhearing ear when he thought he was alone after the service. Only one person noticed him approach the casket once the mourners had adjourned and the church had become quite still. Maybe spin you a tale sometime.
As Always,
TWC
*Not my fault, Mr Kosmik Kid, I was educated in California's public schools.
Photo Credit (unless otherwise noted): ©TWC, all rights reserved
