The gods found me.
And the gods were
pissed.
I had spent 20
blissful years in coastal California when the end came too soon.
Banished to Hades, which the locals called Paradise, I spent a year
running from foam-mouthed dogs, avoiding shrapnel from bombs
accidentally detonated by their tea-party revolutionary makers,
chasing away 7 Day Bible Bangers, wheezing thru the hell-wild-fire
smoke, seeing the bodies of neighbors hauled away almost daily,
avoiding pedestrians suddenly whirling themselves into traffic to
fall dead mid-street and every morning being greeted by 19 vultures.
We had only one
chance and we took it. One morning before the cats were awake we fled
this hell of Paradise and 20 hours later found ourselves in the land
of the Sacred Faith. Nestled between the desert and mountains, we
spent 5 serene … indulgent … years enjoying art, skies, storms,
food and amiable neighbors.
Then the gods found
us. And, as gods and men are wont, they returned to what worked in
the past: the time-proven punishment of Sisyphus. I will now spent
eternity mowing a lawn in Indiana. Back and forth, side to side I
push the mower and when I reach the end, the grass at the beginning
has grown and I start over with no rest.
Well, I do get brief
breaks when the mower runs out of gas. Like Sisyphus enjoying the
view of the Aegean during his walk down the hill to retrieve his
rock, I stroll over to the gas can while watching cars in the
distance head westward on I-64. Westward to beauty and happiness.
The gods have their
revenge. They laugh at my westward yearning as I push my mower north
and south and north again. For eternity.
Or at least until
eternity.