Little Miss Muffet on the Farm

One day at the farm in North Carolina, during a visit from my older cousins, I had an encounter with the big black writing spiders who left yellow messages in their big webs outside the house. I was the youngest of the cousins, and had to run to keep up with their antics.  One day it was up-on-the-meat-icebox-in-the-barn-and-jump-off-onto-the-pile-of- hay-day.  Of course I was last, and instead of landing in the hay I slipped way down into the space between  the  hay stack and the meat ice box. Horror of horrors, trauma of traumas, I knew only too well what was in those spider webs I fell into.

The sky is still there

the icebox hums its own tune

last in line is last

About Nan Mykel

At 79, I was just about to stop keeping a journal, but that felt like accepting that growth was finished. I don't want to be finished, yet! I'm 80 now, and struggling to communicate with you, if you'll come and set awhile. P.S. My how time flies! I'm 83 now.
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