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Stories

Chủ đề trong 'Anh (English Club)' bởi one-courage, 09/05/2003.

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    Tham gia ngày:
    04/04/2002
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    Once I online, i unitentional read thiz story. I find it cool , so i decided to post thiz story here. Hope u all like it

    STICKS
    by Al Batt

    It is an annual tra***ion.
    We go to an aunt's farm and pick up sticks and rake her yard.
    To be happy, a man needs something to do, something to love and
    something to hope for. Picking up sticks fills the bill.
    The cottonwood, box elder, oak and walnut trees drop a lot of
    sticks
    over a year's time. Windstorms cause the lawn to be covered with
    sticks of
    various sizes. It is hard and repetitive work -- bending and grabbing.
    It
    is a lesson for life -- you have to be down in order to get up.
    I stopped by the rhubarb plants. While they are still too small
    to
    harvest, I drooled over the thoughts of future culinary delights.
    I worked around the lilacs and could almost smell the flowers that
    would be arriving in May.
    I walked the yard, picking up sticks while I listening to the
    songs of
    the birds. I carried the sticks to the three separate brush piles
    spaced
    strategically, to save as many steps as possible. I tossed the sticks
    onto
    the ever-growing piles. Occasionally, I would pause and watch the
    birds in
    the trees.
    The trees are survivors. They bend during storms. We could learn
    a
    lot from them. When life's winds blow, we need to bend in order to
    keep
    from breaking. The winds endeavor to take the trees a stick at a time,
    but
    the trees usually endure. The trees are like families; the sticks like
    individuals. We pick up the sticks and go on. We make do.
    My family turned one of the brush piles into a fire for roasting
    hot
    dogs and marshmallows. It was fun for the family to be able to get
    together during a time when such gatherings are difficult to schedule.
    We
    talked about family things. Such discussions are my family's way of
    picking up sticks.
    We talked about those loved ones who have gone on before us. I
    thought of my parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles who have passed
    away.
    They were the branches in my family. I think of them often --
    sometimes
    with sadness.
    My thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of the children of the
    family playing baseball. Sounds that let me know that life goes on.
    Happiness is more often remembered than experienced.
    That's why I pick up sticks.


    Everyday is 1st April

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