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BUT NOW IS NOT THE TIME by Vincent J McArdle

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vincent mcardle

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I listen to the rain on the decking at night.
It is cold outside and the drops are gentle and I suddenly feel the urge to sprinkle feed and weed on the grass.
I will sprinkle it softly as brown granules, light and small as the first white hail of winter.
But now is not the time.
Who would thank me for that?
No one?
Only the rich green growth of a warm March day.

I want to hug my boy as he exits the doors of his first real job.
He insists on taking me to lunch like a full-blown executive.
His dark blue suit and clean white shirt and proper blue striped tie tell me that he’s well set for life’s journey.
And the eyes of the pretty girl at the desk, gazes in curiosity at this old man and his boy.
If I did hug him he would cringe and bridle at this paternal excess and say
Now is not the time.

But I know he would long remember that hug when I do lie beneath the fresh new growth of a warm March day.

But now is not the time.

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