Hearse Etiquette

Do you have days when you crack yourself up? Can you take a good long look at yourself and find the humor? There's no shortage of laughter for me as I keep creating comedic fodder, if only for my own amusement.

As is usual on Monday mornings, I venture out to Penuel Ridge to work on site. This allows me to stay connected with the land and the mission while getting a good dose of outdoors! BTW, the firepinks are blooming.

As is also the case, my drive from East Nashville to the middle of Cheatham County includes a stop at doggy day care to drop off Miss Sophie.

I loaded all my gear for the day (and evening meeting) and a 50-ish pound Airedale Terrier into my SUV and off we went.

As I was driving, a shiny black hearse was entering the freeway and by my estimations was going to land in the same spot as me, who was traveling in the right-hand lane. I did a quick head-check on hearse etiquette and decided to slow down enough so that said hearse could enter the freeway smoothly. I certainly didn't want any contents to shift should the driver need to accelerate or brake suddenly. I was so polite, I let the car behind it enter before me as well...a little cushion between me and the hearse.

So we drive on and the hearse takes the same exit as me and the cushion car did not so now I'm immediately behind the hearse. My mind starts to wander/wonder if there is indeed driving etiquette published somewhere and before I know it...I'm following the hearse! Luckily, it was getting on the same freeway as me so I kept driving.

It wasn't until I was 3/4 of the way to my destination that I looked in the rear-view mirror and saw Ms. Sophie staring back at me. Yes, I was so caught up in hearse etiquette I forgot to drop off the dog at day care.

Laughter ensued!

Hide and Seek

I've been playing hide and seek with the Muse for a little while now. Luckily, I've been in the company of a group of women writers who are divine in their own write/right and supportive of the new kid at the table.

As a poet, it's daunting to be given a writing prompt and 20 minutes on a clock to produce something worthy enough to speak out loud. I've surprised myself. I'm writing more prose than poetry but the poetry is coming out, just like the green shoots of Spring.

So here's a poem which emerged from the following prompt:

"Today, portray violence in your writing."

After sitting with this prompt for a few minutes, an image popped into my head and the words flowed:

Town Square

 

a swinging rope

a holy oak

one-hundred years of shade

 

a swinging rope

a holy oak

faces devoid of shame

 

a swinging rope

a holy oak

a spectator sport

 

for the lame

of heart, of conscience,

of soul

 

save one child

 

alone

 

her innocence flown

past her lips

in a perfect O