The Cure for what Ails Ya

 

The Cure for What Ails Ya

Deep in the Ecuadorian rainforest, shaded forever from light by a dense canopy formed beneath the ever drip, drip, dripping leaves of a thick and ancient stand of kapok trees, rooted in the rotted, but vitamin rich vegetation that lies atop the mud-slick slime that must do for soil in this fetid place, grows a malodorous, mushroom shaped fungi that if ever swallowed by man will prove to be the cure for all that physically and mentally plagues him in this world... if only he could ever find it, and once found pick the slimy thing from the ground, and once picked be curious enough, brave enough, and hungry enough to put the disgusting thing into his mouth, chew it up, and swallow.

If only ever. Sigh...

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

A Day on the Water

  A Day on the Water I reached across the seat to scratch his head. It was soft in my palm, his ears like velvet on my fingertips. I put my hand back on the wheel. “Come on now,” I said to myself. “Stay strong. It’s just a dog. The world isn’t ending.” But it sure felt like the world was ending, or at least like it would never be the same. A piece if its magic was slipping behind the curtain, about to disappear. Reb and I were just waiting for the wand to wave. We were still a ways from the ramp when Reb smelled the water. He whined, seaching inside himself for a last vestige of excitement. The water scent grew stronger when we pulled into the boat ramp. Despite his sickness, Reb grew restless, pushing his head through the opened window, his tail wagging slowly behind him, beating against my arm, still unsure. When I backed the trailer to the water Reb found his strength, and shouted it through the window to whomever might hear. We walked together across the floating dock, stepping...
Read more

A Siren on the Sea

                                               A Siren on the Sea    It was a light he sought, and it was a light he saw. Faint it was through the fog, a small halo of gold shining upon a finger of land. The man was drawn by the light as a moth is drawn, for where a light shines a soul dwells, and the man had long been rowing the dinghy upon a soulless sea. The light beckoned him to accept its shelter, and to know its people, for a light needs its people, as they need it. The man started for it as he must, the light being his only map through the black swells. He pulled hard at the oars, driving them deep, feeling the muscles ripple through his shoulders and back. The ripple was good. He called on the strength, and it came. There was life in the old dog yet. The dinghy jumped to his will, but soon the sound of waves upon the beach quitted his oars. It ...
Read more

A Prayer for Better

  I don’t know what‘s coming. He died on a Tuesday afternoon whilst resting in his porch rocker. The occasional breeze stirred it and him like an ever so gentle hand on his back, or like a single bare toe barely touching down. The weathered slats beneath the chair bemoaned his passing, groaning with the shifting weight of it even as Nature’s warm breath ruffled the cotton sleeve of his work shirt and rocked him away to someplace different. I cannot know what’s coming. The bronzed skin of his face was cast in the halo of a single porch fixture, it’s mason jar globe speckled with time, flies and spiders. In the weak light he looked deceptively young with his many wrinkles relaxed, and drawn in tight. In fact, he could have been only resting. There was no reason to think that the bony fingers draped around the end of the chair’s armrest wouldn’t tighten their grasp at any second, that they wouldn’t lift him up onto those spindly, unsteady legs so that he might shuffle into the kitchen...
Read more