Patiently Waiting

Do you dare dart your eye in my direction, Sir? Are you sure that you're ready to plow into the muck that is me? I recognize no gloves, goggles; you have spade or shovel or even a meer dog to square away the job for you. I will give you fair warning, it is an extremely tough ground to plow. All of it's moisture evaporated long ago and left it dry and cracked; a heavy heavy type of sod that does no justice to my outter skin, or for that matter, what lies beneath the dry earth. With a butter knife from your mother's utensil drawr you could ever so slightly slide its ridges down my bare skin and watch the crimson flow effortlessly. But you will find no crude bubbling oil nor blood coming from within this lifeless, crusted ground which I stand and build myself upon. I am quiet curious to see how you actually think you'll be more than three inches deep before night falls. Your fingernails will be stained clay red and the very prospect of scrubbing underneath your nails would be quite tedious for a man of your stature and far too time consuming. Oh, and dare I say, you wouldn't want to wear me on the cuff of your button-up plaid work shirt, or on those light colored khaki's surely some kind woman steamed and set out for you. Perhaps, embarrassed would be the word described on your face, when someone so blatently points out that my strange earth is worn on your body and clothes, and perhaps even a smeer on your cheek mixed with warm sweat from your dignant brows. Haha, you gleam so innocently, like you may have a plan sealed discretely in that sly grin, and I will inquire, but your demeanor doesn't put you in a place to play so far from home, on different, unknown soil. I am sure that where you came from your father didn't have plow his own land. Surely he left it to his money to define him, well kind Sir, I have none of that. I have had to till my own earth, reassure it daily that one day it will be strong and damp enough to grow it's beloved fragrent flowers, but even I have my doubts. Ridged pieces of land that I have been given to call my own and I am still rough around the edges, trying something new every day, but allowing to stay dry, because dear, it would take a very strong man to tear deep within these levels. I am prepared to see how far you get, so, on with it. Wipe that sly grin from your face and pace yourself, I am waiting

Reviews

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I'm seeing through the story here to symbolism perhaps? You wrote this very well and "layed the ground work" so to speak! A good story and I would like to read more.