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
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.