Thoughts Of A Boy

It throws a great shadow I said to no one in particular, it was the eden of the night and I never really had outgrown, or leave behind as Mother said I would, that fear of pitch black places and, neither gods nor ghosts would ever, in my lifetime at least, talk me, coerce me or shock me out of it. A flapping of substantial wings invisible to me and those who lay deep in the ground, partly devoured by stoic and ill-mannered worms. So, here I stand, behind the biggest one, of hundreds, planted at a time when it was thought that they would lend, impart much needed majesty and style to God's still acres, resting place for souls. I had, like aunts and uncles who have gone before me, a special liking for the stuff, distilled downriver at Big Wilhelm's mill, I reminisce, right at the source, concealed from ghosts and gods alike, yet still afraid. Souls never leave the ground, they do not rise up to the afterlife, it's all a crock! They flutter, batlike over marble rocks and have no hearing and no genuine seeing eyes. Yet they could take me, a small boy and make me pay for all the sins I would commit in later life, that's why I hide inside the juniper and pray, armed with a capgun and a double bladed knife.