Tomorrow, August 19th, freedom of speech will be tested again

 

Dear Boston,

Tomorrow, you have a choice. The far-right has scheduled another rally. Some may be your citizens, some may come from other places.

Some of you will oppose the rally.

Yes, the far-right has a right to speak. Perhaps, if you are like me, you will continue to “fight” for justice and equality for all people. But please “fight” with words.

Regardless of your “side”, I know how tense passions are – how they can escalate to the rise in blood pressure, to teeth grinding, to clenched fists. But please, put down your shields, your torches, your tear gas. In fact, don’t bring them at all.

And to my NON Alt-right friends: As difficult as it may be, perhaps you can stand back and listen. Then, maybe we will discover why the alt-right is so afraid of differences and what led them to that fear.

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Sincerely,

Carolyn D-W

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Praise for the Mountain

If I were a cow

I would roam beneath a mountain

and drink from a cool stream.

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If I were an Arrowleaf flower

I would grow on a mountain hillside

and smile proudly at the hikers passing by.

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If I were the remains of an old mining cable

I would stare at the mountains

and remember a time

when miners depended on my strength

to transport their coal.

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If I were a wooden bridge

I would keep walkers safe as they crossed

and as they stopped in my middle

to admire the the mountain stream view

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And if I were a mountain

I would look to the clouds and smile.

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Waiting for Rosie’s Cafe

Note: What were the chances I would find the word Willy-nilly (daily post) in one of my writings? As my kids used to say, “Random!” But here it is!

 

Excerpt from The Moonshine Thicket by C. Dennis-Willingham

Mr. Leonard, Scooter, and Frank have already left the house for Rosie’s. It’s part of the plan. Mama squeezes her hands together while Miss Helen make-ups her face.

“Stop being so willy-nilly, Bernice. This will be a perfect evening. And for heaven’s sake, stay still!” Miss Helen says, winking at me.

Mama plants her hands on Miss Helen’s vanity. “I know. It’s just, well, there’s so much to say.”

“Then say it and put it behind you.” Miss Helen stands back and eyeballs her work. “You look beautiful, Bernice.”

“Better than beautiful, Mama,” I tell her.

“I’m in my slip for Christ’s sake. At least wait to compliment me until after I’m dressed.”

When Mama puts on her new dress, a pink taffeta with frilly layers, she says it’s too fancy for Rosie’s café. But she can’t stop looking in the mirror.

Too much spur

Dad says that Mr. Posey “is richer’n four feet up a bull’s butt.” But he doesn’t act anything like Uncle Will McCleskey. He’d never pull me off a horse with a walking stick, even if he had one.

Most of the time, we even get to have supper with them and since Mr. Posey talks almost as slow as Hoover, supper conversations take a long time. At least Dad isn’t doing us any harm while we’re here. Mr. Posey doesn’t go off half-cocked like Dad does. He doesn’t hit his wife or Hoover, so I guess Dad doesn’t want to be the only one who clobbers two outta three of his family members.

Hoover asked me to ride out with him on a couple of their horses. I was supposed to be chopping wood, but the idea of riding sounded like chocolate cake. We had a good time riding around their property. It made me think of riding with Ike, the sound of hooves, the click of his left cheek. I sure do miss him.

We were trotting along just fine until my horse swallowed his head and threw me off into a prickly pear cactus. I landed on my right hand and it smarted something awful.

“Cono,” said Hoover, “ I…think….you… gave…him…just…a little….too much…spur.” And right then, my laughter took over my pain.

Since then, I’ve been trying to hide my bad hand from Dad so he won’t catch on that I’d played hooky from my wood chopping. For the last couple of days I’ve even been chopping wood with my left hand until my right one starts to feel better. It’s safer that way.

Excerpt from No Hill for a Stepper by C. Dennis-Willingham

Prickle- daily word prompt