Posted by
Scaramouche on Wednesday, November 14, 2007 12:18:22 PM
Was
that the decay of the hay or the stool of the mule? Riding leisurely along a
newly built bike trail (yes, you can teach a mule to ride a bike), and having
been raised twixt and tween, being neither wholly a city mule nor a country mule,
the pungent odor of freshly spread hay caught my olfactory by the boo-boo.
Dispersed as it was, to prevent erosion on newly graded banks, the hay’s odor
permeated the air surrounding the trail completely. For lack of agrarian
knowledge I could not discern if the scent rose due to natural curing of the
harvested and baled hay, or whether there had been left behinds from
the…behinds of grazing animals in the blend. Regardless, the brief
reminiscences were as familiar as they were inconclusive.
Those
who would decline to say what it is that they want have their reasons. How can
their desires or motives be impugned if they are not stated; but, left to
speculation they can possibly be denied or manipulated at a later date.
Interactivity becomes mandatory for an audience to be able to witness the
performance. Inevitability is deferred to the casual observer; not so much for
the veteran. Rudiments come easily; mastery comes never at all to some, as it
employs talent as well as practice. Scaramouche, being a novice, lacks the
grace of the artful stoic, yet has felt the sting of incorrect assumption like
the snap of a rein on his back Hence his recalcitrance. He does not seek the
entrance to the china shop, but, placed inside, the results are hardly
indistinguishable from that of the bull. A mule, after all, cannot propagate, therefore he becomes his own conclusion.