Asking Advice

She went to her father’s grave to ask his advice.

‘Hi dad,’ she said, ‘I didn’t bring you a flower today, because a bouquet would just wither, and you already have so many growing on you, it’s turning into a jungle. The sage is lovely though.’ She took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes.

‘You know I’ve been thinking about that proverb about leading a horse to water. What do you do, if it’s the other way around? I mean, what if you lead a horse to water and it drank and that was fine, but then he just didn’t stop drinking; he just kept taking and taking until even your tears run dry and all your friends say just leave him, but it’s your river, and he has gnawed his way into the riverbed and just won’t let go and…’ she sighed. ‘He just won’t let go.’ Replacing her glasses, she looked up at a cloud drifting between her and the sun.

‘I suppose you’re right; I just have to make him let go. Rigor mortis doesn’t kick in until after three hours.’

She smiled at the violets, the sage and the lavender.

‘Thanks for listening, dad.’

And she went out to the road where her husband was waiting.

Posted by Beatrix MGN on November 7, 2014

https://abolg.wordpress.com/2014/11/07/asking-advice/