Friday, January 13, 2006

The Tale of the Singin Lad

He was a singin lad, browner'n cookin butter. And a whistlin lad, and ain't that an ooh la la? He loved cracklin sweet rabbit, greens all stirred up with bacon 'n onions 'n all the good things his maw-maw thought proper. He was a findin lad, 'tweren't a lost doodad in all the county that didn't call out his name. So with a skip and a jump, a grinnin smile and a 'how ya do?' he was out. Out through the garden gate, betwixt ole man apple and the blackberry patch. Not so much a rustle nor a flip 'n a flap did he leave on the summer path. Yes, lawdy yes, he was a laughin lad.

Goin like a glimmer, nuthin but a shadow to the papa-fox all slyin. Just half a breathin shadow slippin past some acorn trees, smellin up the butternuts. No schoolin, no scoldin. No whuppins or weepins for our favorite lad. Our singin lad.

Livin's just like cotton candy, says his maw-maw. Light 'n meltin, gone afore the tastin's done. But sweet, child, sweet. So quick, my lad, live quick, live lightnin. Live faster'n all the summer clouds. Drink the rain a'fallin, cool and full of heaven's grace.

But luck's all feckless, mean 'n fickle. There's witches spellin, darkness huntin. Them that love no laughin boy. Them with pride a-twisted, covetous 'n heavy down with greed. On that day they heard the summer song, hid hushed behind the jasmine bloomin. Hungerin for the lad. On that day the moon was moanin, full up in the blindin sky. Omen fell, 'n omen sorrowed. For our jolly lad.

There was a singin lad, browner'n cookin butter.


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