Little boys who aren't allow a month's growth on their softball sized noggins and little girls running round in flower dresses who havn't had a hair cut since great great great great grandmother ate of the fruit of knowledge.
They ain't no anger, no nothing but wide smiles and little fingers cutting warm bread loafs and spreading sweet cinamon butter and inch wide slices to hand out to anyone who happens upon this part of the river this sunday mornin'.
Each an everyone of this sunburnt cherubs is home schooled. Leanin against the white wash fence are a few of the teenagers. They know all bout pick up trucks and now that they are getting on, those who have paps with a generous nature have got a little length that they can comb back into Pompadours. They mothers pray quietly that they aint raising a honkytonky stray, but the Dad's know they got ants in their pants and need to test the waters.
Spread out like legos against the side of the doublewide that has serves as the church for the past year, spread out there are the boxes, mostly wooden, one welded aluminum. The heat seems to bring their contents to a boil, or a sizzle, a searing sound like a piece of pork meat fallin from the mesh of the grill onto the charcoal beneath. Sudden sound ever time I hear it.
I wont handle the snakes, but man I can't wait to see them so it. I don't known if it God's work, but it lifts me up. Isn't that weird, someone pulling their own life on the line for something that might mean nothin. But Lord It does lift me up.