A covered bridge waits
for a reason to be
caressed and adored

From my dining room
I see nothing of danger.
My tax dollars at work.

A sleeping dog lies
without a care in the
lap of its world

Is a gnarled root
beautiful or just deformed?
A question I ponder

Pa built this barn about 1945. I was 2. I would come into this barn and pet the cows. Pa tried to teach me to milk but I could never get the squeeze and pull in the right order. He always kept the barn in perfect shape. Pa is dead now.

Death is down below
I am able to clean it up
I can't prevent it

Standing on the rock
I looked to the quiet water
but saw much sadness.

I got a BB gun when I was about 9 or 10 as did many kids during that time. I spent the next few years honing my skills using birds. I tried not to kill the "good" birds and I developed quite a killing skill. I kept track of the birds I shot. I always tried to follow the "good" bird creed but sometimes I would have a lapse. One time I wiped out a nest of screech owls. This was toward the end of my career.

The end came one morning in the back yard. There was a large black walnut tree that always sheltered many birds. I loaded up and went out to the back yard and took my place. I would stand motionless waiting for a song or movement. When I saw movement I would quietly move into a new position. Trying to find that the location that would provide me the best shot. When I heard a song, I would turn my head in order to use the stereo effect of to determine the exact location of the sound.

That morning I finally located the bird. It was very high in the tree. I took aim and squeezed the trigger. Bullseye! The bird fell from the branch, bouncing from limb to limb as it fell through the tree. That morning it seemed to take an extra long time for that bird to fall. Sort of in slow motion. It finally fell to the ground at my feet. It was dead.

I looked at the bird in disbelief. I could not understand what I had done. Why in the world had I killed this bird? It was doing nothing but living its life. Did I have the right to end that bird's life with my BB gun? How could I have killed all of those other birds? For years I had done this. I had killed these little birds for sport. What was wrong with me? I sat down on an old well. I thought about the other times that I had shot the birds. I could find nothing that I liked in my thoughts.

That day was the last day I shot a bird. In fact that day turned me against hunting. I could not tolerate the killing of animals like this. My Dad wanted me to go with him when he hunted but I could not do it.

I was once your equal. I lived and loved and breathed and worked as you. My family was important to me. Whatever happened to them?

I once was a part of your life. I walked down the path as you. My life was just the average life. No one celebrates the average life.