My Own Purple Crayon....The Story of My Adventure
In which She falls down the groundhog hole and resurfaces...where?
- •"Where am I?" It's dark and damp. The smell of earth and occasional bruising of red rock, jagged and cold.Oh geez it's the damned ground hog AGAIN.
- •He ( or She?-how to tell them apart?) plagues my garden efforts.Nibbles the shoots. Tastes the odd flower. Gobbles them down.
- •King Whistlepig! My backyard nemesis!
- •I spied him through my window, sitting up straight and regal, on the back mound.Lord of the Green: He sniffs the air, seemingly honing in on the recent additions. "Damn him!" I seethe and grab the rake.A call to arms! Defend my few flowers!
- •That's when I go down. His escape route becomes my misery.The hole swallows my foot, my leg. I spiral through the earth, a human corkscrew heading for this animals dark kingdom.
- •My rake lies in the yard, far from my grasp. I grope, unarmed.Below and alone there is nothing left but to follow the tunnel. Down and down and twisting and turning.
- •Into the Hall of Marmota Monax!His chucklings gather round and squeak at me: "More plants! More plants!" It's useless to fight the mob. I promise them whatever they want.
- •I awake, above ground- thank God (hours later? Days?). Stained with clay, sputtering gravel.I once was a gardener for my own pleasure. No more.