You do not want to know what I had considered sharing. Funny thing about what one man perceives wisdom. When deaf ears prowl for shining siren pine dull to thin and thistle. Soft and shapely avenues of egress to mourning and delight. It prides a man to grow fields of tallow and tinder then store it for the pleasure of lean weekends.

Whose to choose what to gain and lose? When midnight means to manifest it all for sacrifice and sorrow. Perhaps tomorrow shone somber starlight upon the treasures of two thirty. When we arise, ribbon and prize shall decorate the platters and the mantles of manhood. All for the grand pleasure of a day that would see it all consumed for carbon tax and elite understanding. We whistle sweet times and jolly days of plunder.

What lay round the bend a puff of steam seen over top the hickory. Through the dales and valley prime moose calls and hoot owls mark perch and broad thicket knowing others shall certainly follow. Stepping with intention upon the soft ground. Leaving paw and claw as reminder of our inclusion. The crunch of pine straw and strawberry threaten to call rip tide to draw us keel to stone and hand to gentle cheek. Strong and weak.

Present tear, ripening fear turn about the seasoned warrior keenly sensing danger. It is good to remember and sometimes better to forget. For the lure of sweet tomorrows and daylight snoozes on porch swings that only become twisted in the rusty days of Autumn. Theirs is evil in promise that corrodes into reason. The thoughts turn to twisted oak when prostrate on the grounds in darkness of Winter’s damp. Implacable and steadfast a combination to make bitter the hearts of young men and slight the beat of elderly folk.

All for the glory of counting tabs and chalk marks. Skeptics and Priest tuck chin to cross and make winking gesture as none escape perspective. A “hurry back” and “that’s good to hear” say nothing to no one but declare unwillingness to borrow or shade the putrid purse of sin. What eye is dark or sight so dim to refuse light’s entry? What hearts forget the joy of youth when nothing is impossible? What delight is found when regretful memories pull back frowns from dancing laughter? All too short for us to open all the presents.