I followed her down the muddy path that
traced its winding path from the back country road to the swamp. It
twisted like a snake through the woods so much I had no way of
knowing which way I faced or which way led back to my car. I did not
care, though. When I saw her standing by the road, her slip the color
of bone in the shadows, I had to follow her. Not to help her, mind
you, though she did look every inch the damsel in distress the little
girl lost in the woods. No, not to help her, but to help me. If I
just went with her, my every wish would be granted. She never said
this aloud. Something in those mournful eyes told me everything I
ever wanted, desires I never knew I had that now stirred deep within,
all could be mine if I just went with her, down into the swamps. So I
did.
Now I stand barefoot beside back
country roads, wearing jeans and a shirt the color of bone, and with
my deep mournful eyes, I promise travelers everything their heart
desires if they but follow me along winding paths down into the
swamps.
- Originally mailed to C. George in San Diego, California
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