Thursday, December 20, 2012

Bona Fide Bloodhound

Others didn’t seem to have my problem. As far as I could tell each had theirs snuggly packed away in their garages, or their kitchen cabinets, or wherever people kept such things. Mine? Mine was let loose on this mountain trail, and it was up to me to catch it on my own.

It’s not like I wasn’t offered a share of at least a dozen others. In fact people had been cajoling my for weeks to just consider theirs’ my own. But I was having none of it. No matter how cozy I got with someone else’s it would never belong to me. So I ran; up, left, over rocks, through trees. I ran so hard I almost passed out, and then I crawled. I had the scent, I knew it couldn’t elude me entirely, but I had to overtake it and frankly, I thought I might die trying. Still, I had to follow my father’s advice to honor his memory. He always said, “never give up when in pursuit of the truth.”

I can hear it just over the next ridge, laughing at me as I wheeze my way up this hill. I wonder if it’s worth it, if the truth is all that special. All I know is when I get hold of it I’m not going to let it see daylight for a month. I’m far more comfortable saying “I knew it all along” than “No, you’re wrong, I have the truth right here…”

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