An English In Kentucky



















September 13th 2009

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    Activity around the wellhead today means soreness in the morning for me.  It is the lying down on the stomach to work with arms reaching into the ground that results in exercise for muscles which are almost no longer there.  

    These muscles understand full well that they are parts of the community that is me, but they will have been idle for long enough to soon realize outrage at demands I have made of them.  Already they are questioning their role in the wider community.  They are asking why, all of a sudden, have they been called from retirement.  




    I can hear them wondering what path I have chosen to so suddenly require activity from them.  They are preparing a petition which will soon arrive in my mind.  The petition may be familiar enough in its demands.  More ice cream and a little preparation before any call to action.  Or it could be a suggestion that now is the time to investigate town-life, with that wander downstairs to a cafe on a sun dappled boulevard were coffee is accompanied by discussion and sticky buns.  

    Wells are mortal things.  They are prone to sickness, they grasp discomfort, and like me wells have lifespan.  But unlike me wells lack imagination, they just sit there in a mood of permanent disgruntlement.  They can not lift their own pump and move to greener hills. 

    And so when the petition does arrive I must pretend to be a well, this way  harmony might not walk to the cliff edge and leap.

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tim candler

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(well and bleach