Story #23- The Place Where I Buried Timothy


We found him in some leaves in the grass.

It was fall,

And he had fallen.

The lawnmower took him down.

We looked at each other,

Shed our backpacks and then

Took out our violins.

They were rented,

Not ours.

But still, we knew how to play them.

On Top of Old Smokey

Rang out through the trees.

When it was over

We slipped our violins back

Into their cases

And got some branches.

After all,

You’re not supposed to touch

Dead creatures.

We carried him in our branch hammock

Out to the arroyo

And buried him there.

We marked the tomb

With a tumbleweed.

We hoped he would rest alone.

But from afar

The coyotes watched on hungrily.


2 thoughts on “Story #23- The Place Where I Buried Timothy

    1. Hi, Felicia! I am from New Mexico. Albuquerque, in fact, and Timothy is based on a true story. I hear you are a photographer in the Santa Fe area? Cheers, and thank you for visiting this blog. Please consider submitting a photograph for a story! -DC

      Liked by 1 person

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