And luckily, I still have mine…
It’s funny as heck in the movies… some poor schmuck walks down the street, oblivious to everything around him, when he steps on the teeth of a metal garden rake that someone has left lying on the ground. He spins and whirls a bit, stumbles about as he regains his bearings, only to step on the little bugger again, at which point he spins and whirls and likely stumbles into some other danger-laden maze of garden tools.
The real story is this… I’m cleaning up the garage, getting it prepared for the destruction to come. There are power tools and wheelbarrows, buckets of nails and collections of children’s toys. There is a bag of golf clubs and a cart with which to pull them hiding in a dark corner of the garage. And as I step forward and reach for the cart lying on the ground, I feel the ground beneath my foot give in a way that it probably should not. But there is no time to think of why the terra is not so firma. My world explodes before I can move my hand up in defense. Out of the darkness breathes fire and light and pain beyond belief. I stumble and whirl, trip and spin. There is not much left on the ground, but what lies there finds ways to tangle and twist between my feet. I do not fall, but I should. I do not curse, but there is no virtue here, because the truth is that I cannot speak.
There are no slapstick tools lurking in the darkened corners of my garage. These are not funny moments scripted for a film. They lie in wait to blind the unsuspecting; to waylay fools who leave them with their teeth upturned.
Be warned! Beware the eyes of March!