- Roger Kimble
I went to the county landfill today. They are becoming almost|
mandatory if you have trash to get rid of, and that is a good thing. I had
a pick-up truck about full, and it cost me $8.42 to leave the whole load.
So, money-wise, it's not a bad deal.
Included in my load were many things: a small tricycle, somewhat
rusted now, but in its prime it was a bright red, and it would keep up with
the wind and on its seat was a silver sticker which read Princeton Machinery
Company, a sticker that was put there by Amanda's grandfather, who, like
the tricycle, is gone now.
Ollie, a bright yellow creature of unknown species with big eyes
and four wheels. It was just the right height for a three or four year old, but
it too had aged, its mane a mere whisper of its glory, and the eyes seemed
somewhat sad now. It had not been ridden for so long a time, and I think it
knew it was time to say goodbye. They know things like that.
A baby pen that taught its occupant how to walk while holding on
to its sides, it too at one time a bright yellow, and like Ollie, grown old and
discolored, its only student of walking now striding and driving cars and
so, not needed any longer, it too knew its days as a teacher and watcher
over small fragile bodies had, as all things must, reached its final destination.
A small swimmimg pool that served its little owner with joy. It had
been the ocean, with waves coming into the beach, and it buoyed small
ducks and other creatures on its gentle waves as it held its somewhat
none-too-sure swimmer. At full depth, it was only four or five inches, but
it was magic to its mermaid, as she played in the warm sun in its gentle
and tropical waters.
I left some other things too, all outgrown and assigned now to
the misty realm of memories. All these things I left, for only $8.42.
They didn't know about the tear.