Canned a Bazillion quarts,
Dark and dreary.
Paperwork, clients, stresses, then lunch.
Cindy would turn the radio on WOKO country,
Alabama always looking over her.
Little calls to her husband, kids, friends,
Always offering a pearl of wisdom, advice, help, food.
Errands for her other job on their farm,
I live vicariously through her farm stories.
Her energy seems boundless.
I blame her lineage and ingrained work ethic.
Don't try to keep up with her,
I tell myself.
Do the best you can.
Cindy would agree.
I thought about Cindy a few times recently.
Once when looking at my parachute material curtains.
Cindy kept telling me she would bring me a piece then she did.
I made curtains out of it.
She said the air goes through parachute material or I wouldn't know that.
The wind was blowing like crazy from the north and the parachute curtain bowed out.
I thought of Cindy.
Then Monday I saw what looked like her car, headed south.
I thought she must have been shopping,
even though it was not her.
So Friday seemed a good day to play the song she always played on Friday afternoon
in the office.
Tennessee Bird Walk.
It is the little things people leave us with that reminds us of them.
For several days I have been thinking about Cindy,
her family, her animals, her smile
Through thick and thin,