It Ain't always comfortable

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william williams

It Ain't always comfortable

Post by william williams » Sun Jan 20, 2013 7:45 pm

It Ain’t Always Comfortable

He had travelled mile after mile along that dusty track to deliver a mob of woollies
that had taken of two months to get there and he was glad that they were delivered the slowness of the mob was now gone along with the worries that went with it removed allowing him to make the return trip back home to his wife and son that much quicker as he started on his way home,
After travelling for many days and sleepless nights he came to their little town where he banked his hard earned check and took a quiet drink, a feed, and bought some thing to take back home.
He then saddled up and travelled on to the road heading for home when down came that thunder storm that soon turn all that dry dusty country into a sea of mud.
Quickly he donned his oilskin coat, its collar he turned up and his worn battered old hat he pulled down around his ears to try and stop the rain but it still dribbled on down his neck.
While his horse it plodded patently along, wet and miserable followed by his pack horse wearily walking along in what was soon to become mud
while his four dogs looking like drowned rats walked beside them
Mumbling just loud enough for his four legged mates to hear, he told them that there would soon be a warm sheltered barn waiting for them. And still the rain steadily belting down, wetting everything while he rode on with hunched shoulders cursing the rain and gazing around all that he could see, was flaming mud.
Steadily things became very familiar, why just over that rise his home would come into sight.
His dogs they quickly left him and race on to their dry barn as the horses quickened up their pace sensing the stables were near
The dogs upon reaching the house loudly barked, telling that they were home then raced on madly to the barn for they knew that dry warmth was there
Slowly through the howling rain like a hazy shadow he appeared, at the barn for it was to be his first stop
He first unsaddled his horse then the old pack horse and rubbed them down to dry quickly he fed them in their stalls.
He unpacked the wet packsaddle and hung out his things to dry rather hurriedly.
But these chores he must do but they all take time
Meanwhile inside that warm old house a little voice it cried. Why is he so long mummy?
Once again he pushed his little face hard against the window.
Why can’t I wait out on the veranda mommy?
Once again he looked hard through that window waiting for his dad
At last the little chap he saw him, trudging through the mud
There were parcels in his arms and other things were there as well
As he climbed up on the veranda, with the rain still dripping from his coat he stamped his boots out on the steps to shake of the mud before taking them off
He opened up the kitchen door; his son came running to him happily singing out
Its my birthday daddy.
Now that! Was something, the old drover loved to hear

Written by Bill Williams October 2008 ©

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