fiction
edward w pritchard
In answer to the query "What happen to Ed" we post Alexander Pope's poem on the ends of life below which is hard to improve on.
Happy the man, whose wish and care
A few paternal acres bound,
Content to breathe his native air,
In his own ground.
Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread,
Whose flocks supply him with attire,
Whose trees in summer yield him shade,
In winter fire.
Blest! who can unconcern'dly find
Hours, days, and years slide soft away,
In health of body, peace of mind,
Quiet by day,
Sound sleep by night; study and ease
Together mix'd; sweet recreation,
And innocence, which most does please,
With meditation.
Thus let me live, unseen, unknown;
Thus unlamented let me die;
Steal from the world, and not a stone
Tell where I lye.
So where did Ed go?
A little boy racing on a bike riding uphill for hours and hours unseen and unsupervised. Playing third place, twenty paces too close to home plate and stopping a sharp line drive by catching it in the base of the neck and whipping the ball over to first just in time. Then small time poker pro sharing the wealth to and fro. Reading and reading too interested in knowledge to learn a trade. Too long a Father. Vanishing friend. Listening to the trains at night and walking and walking a little less each day. Then travel in the mind, back to Italy on a slow train, to St Petersburg Russia to view the Heritage Art collection. Then a final walk to the Lake. Then to boot hill, buried with no marker. Excuse me if the ending was without proper ceremony; I've thrown the memorabilia away and I have forgotten what's to become of myself.
SATURDAY, MAY 31, 2014
buried on boot hill with no marker
buried on boot hill with no marker
fiction
Edward w Pritchard
For over a century I felt a certain distinction to be buried on boot hill with no marker. Eventually however my lack of respectability and status began to gnaw at me and I began to contemplate how to remedy my situation by changing how I would face the rest of my time in eternity.
I've decided to become a tourist attraction. Now that I know what I want it shouldn't be so hard to accomplish my goals.
fiction
Edward w Pritchard
For over a century I felt a certain distinction to be buried on boot hill with no marker. Eventually however my lack of respectability and status began to gnaw at me and I began to contemplate how to remedy my situation by changing how I would face the rest of my time in eternity.
I've decided to become a tourist attraction. Now that I know what I want it shouldn't be so hard to accomplish my goals.
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