I was twelve when I realized my mother really wasn’t right about some things. I had ridden my mountain bike to the Wentworth Dam and sat at the edge of one of its concrete tiers watching the cliff swallows.
I watched them twirl and spin in the air above the roaring water and then plunge into the broad face of the sand stone cliff at the other side of the dam. There homes were burrowed into the sandstone with an opening about the size of a twelve-year-old’s hand. They would swoop down in a large arc, full speed, and the fold the wings in at the last minute as the popped into their doorways
My mother had said animals we not intelligent and had no soul. I suspected on that summer morning she was wrong about some animals and hence – what else was she wrong about?
I couldn’t tell if my father wasn’t right about some thing because my father never spoke to me except to tell me to do my chores or ride on the correct side of the street. Oh – he had also once taught me how to repair...
2006-11-03
10:24:43
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Ralph
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