Copyrights reserved by the author. If you are in doubt, please click on 'Copyrights' and read the details.Barely surviving the winds of winter By J. G. Fabiano So far winter hasn’t been too bad to any of us in the New England area. We have enjoyed record spring-like temperatures and the concept of pulling out my snow blower once a week is a memory of last year. Sure it has rained a lot but as long as what comes from the sky can go down the drain on the same day I am not complaining. The one aggravating thing I did experience this winter is surviving the winds even though they could be so much worse by reducing their temperatures by 30 degrees. The other day as I was driving into my driveway I noticed my recycling bins were not where they were supposed to be. The night before I placed the loaded bins at the end of my driveway. I’ve done this ever since the recycling program began. On this particular occasion they were loaded because most of the neighborhood decided to suffer through the Patriots loss in front of my TV. This is never a problem except for the fact my recycling materials quadruples before the first half ends. Seeing that my bins were nowhere to be seen I decided to search my neighborhood in the hopes the bins were simply blown under some tree or in some field. In the back of my mind I hoped I was not the victim of some sort of joke but who in their right mind would want to steal recycling bins. It had rained for the past few days and as I peered out of my garage it was coming down hard. But, since it was 50 degrees that during this time of year felt like 75 degrees I decided to get my old baseball cap that has been sitting in my closet ever since the first frost and venture out into the weather. Walking down the street, actually enjoying the warmth of the rain pouring over my head I notice a little bit of blue in one of the fields that surrounds a neighbor’s house. Walking closer to the property I was thrilled to discover it was one of my recycling bins. Under normal conditions it would have been easy to walk through the field and pick up the bin. But, since it has been raining for the past few days I knew there must be soft spots in the field. I also had to be careful because I was still wearing my fall shoes since the winter boots have not been necessary. Looking down at the long brown grasses of summer’s past I thought it looked sturdy enough to walk on. To my surprise it was. I laughed at myself because I thought picking up my bin would be a problem. Right before I was about to reach for the bin I felt my left foot drive into the muck of the field. Great, I thought, now I would have to either wash the shoe off or finally engage my winter boots I thought might have escaped the winter. As I was thinking of what to do my left leg kept sinking into the mud. I laughed imagining I was in some sort of South American Rain Forest trying to save myself from being engulfed in quick sand. But, as I was musing my leg kept on sinking into the mud. Looking down I could no longer see my shoe and discovered the lower part of my leg was joining my foot. Since I did not want to become part of some future archaeologist’s findings I decided to forgo my quest of recovering the bin and pull my foot and leg from the mud. I gave one quick yank and lo and behold it would not move. Needless to say I became concerned with my present situation. I then yanked again with little success and noticed my leg had fallen deeper into the muck. I grabbed my left leg with both my hands and had little luck freeing my leg from the mud. Of course it started raining harder and a kind of evil grey fog started to fall over the field where I was trapped. Looking around in hopes of seeing someone who could help me free myself from the field I was disappointed yet not surprised anybody was around to help me. This was because it was now raining very hard and who in their right mind would want to walk into a field where someone else was trapped. I then started to think of an alternative plan with the concept there was no alternative plan starting to scare the hell out of me. I decided to do what I did when I first learned to walk. I dropped down on my butt in the hopes I could drag myself out of the mud that was devouring me. The problem was the area I decided to drop my butt down on was softer than where my foot and leg were. Within seconds my butt was sinking into the mud trying to catch up with my foot and leg. I must have been a strange sight with one leg stuck almost to my knee and my ass falling into the mud making the rest of my body look like a broken ‘V’. I even tried to move my arms back and forth over my head in the hopes I could free myself from the killing mud field or even catch the sight of someone who might be passing by. My life sped across my mind that day. I thought of all the good times and bad. I also thought of the news report of a man who was found in the spring stuck in the mud with his hand holding onto a recycling bin. What if they never found me? If my wife thought I disappeared in thin air. Would I become part of the fields with grasses growing out of my body? Would I be the fertilizer that made this particular part of the field grow greener than all other parts? Was this my destiny? Was this&ldots;&ldots;&ldots;"What the hell are you doing? At first I was taken back by the sound of someone else’s voice. Could it be God finally sick and tired of getting me out of situations I had perpetually fallen into? Was it my time to be freed by my own life? Then I looked up and saw my neighbor staring down at me trying not to fall on his own knees in laughter and thus getting stuck in his own little section of mud. As he dragged me out of my prison of mud he kept shaking his head back and forth wondering how I ever survived for so long. Walking back toward my house with no recycling bins in hand I knew I would have to strip down in the garage because there was no way I would be allowed in with half the mud on the field still embedded in every crevice of my body. The two things I did not have to worry about were my shoes. They were still in the field destined to become part of some sort of weed I have no clue as to what it is. So far winter hasn’t been too bad to any of us in the New England area. But, for the first time in my life I started to miss the frozen tundra of our normal winters. The End.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
