I pulled three words out of the blue: dandelions, dump truck and mailman. I rolled them around in my mind and came up with this short creative writing piece.
My mail comes at 2:30 every day, Monday through Saturday. Getting it from the mailbox is one of the highlights of my day. Often, I meet the mailman at the box and we exchange meaningless banter. Somedays, I only wave from my porch.
Do you get the drift? I'm a loner. I'm most comfortable passing my time in solitary confinement at 718 Elm Street. I have plenty to keep me occupied, especially at this time of the year with Spring springing up in expected and unexpected locations. Why, I discovered a tulip plant on the south side of my house that I didn't realize was there. I suspect it's been there for quite some time and I simply forgot about it.
Simply forgot. Dang, there's nothing simplistic about forgetting. I dislike the act. For one thing, it threatens my sense of control and peace of mind. When I catch myself at it, I fear I'm slipping off the "top of things" where I've always prided myself on being.
Let's sweep the subject of forgetting under the rug to address another matter. I'm being held hostage by a grand assembly of dandelions gathered en masse on all sides of my house. I'm not defenseless. I ransacked my garage and eventually found my handy-dandy dandelion spade. When I mount my counter offense, I'll need a dump truck to haul the mangled corpses away. In a week's time, I'll be crippled by the work and my yard won't look much better, sporting brown divots where the yellow weeds previously grew.
Excuse me. I hear the mail truck.