Muddy Water…
Down a rutted country road from my
childhood home five miles or so the
muddy Flint Creek flowed south, really
slow. I could not have been over five
or six, when I walked that road but
never without carrying a big stick.
I carried that stick with eyes open wide,
because if a rattlesnake bit you… daddy
said that you might die.In the summer, I
would go there every day skipping and
hopping along; I would jump from that,
rickety old bridge twenty-foot into that
muddy water, then right before the sun
went down I would go home.
My daddy never wondered where I had
gone, everyone who crossed that bridge
during the day told him, so you see I was
never alone. When I finally got home,
daddy would just look at me with a sly
grin, and say with firmness, “Baby you’d
better not let your mother know where
you’ve been.
©2019.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree
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What a delightful story Elizabeth or do you prefer Ann.
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My friends call me Ann, the E. has been for blogs and such. Thank you for the wonderful comment. Ann
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