 |
| The Blacksmith The hammer rang loud and true as steel struck white iron. Forge filled with red hot coals he formed the molten metal. Ringing like a church bell the metal giving way. His leather cloth burned and singed but still the hammer struck. Sweated brow as tears like rippled down his brawny chest. Wooden handle in his hand he wiped his smutty forehead. Children gathered in the doorway to watch in awe and wonder. The fiery coals mesmerized each staring in amazement. This was not the case for me, a blacksmith yes I watched. But not the brawn or build like this, mine was small and drawn. A Cajun transplant in this land where weather shows no mercy. Small of frame and weathered like bark on an age-ed tree. White chloride on the ground the welder of its time. Dark black grungy walls no light ever knew. A big open drafty room where a wagon needs repair. I climbed on the anvil to supervise the work. He let me swing the hammer though smaller than his own. I could barely lift it let alone forge the steel. Tongue at the corner of my mouth I swung with all my might. I still hear him laughing as I tried a few more times. The kerosene lantern as it glowed barely lit the room. It was almost like a lightning bug trying to light the night. Peddles and treadles on everything, electricity a luxury item. A few had a canvas belt to a motor on gasoline. I�d come home with dirty hands and clothes filled with grime. Scolded every home return but still I found a way. I kept going back his owners shop was my playground. I�d try to climb the forming cone taller than my head. My great granddad fixed a harness once, his job: Baby-sitter. He hooked it with a leash and then the clothes line wire. I can still remember nanny, finding him asleep. That was the last time little Tommy played the trolley. Even though its long ago and Hoolie passed away. I still remember the happy times in the barn where I played. The vacant lot just yards away from where I�m living now. I sometimes look and visualize the child there again. The Masked Writer.<-.-> � 2002 T Lovett |
|