Toby was always a hard sell. He sent me to the swamp pond and make me follow the movements of the decorative figurines he carved. Wet figurines placed by his belly as he encourages my adolescent years.
"Do it like this, like the Thumpers way! That's it, you're on your way." He said with his pride of the company on his chest. Pride that was within a legacy of water amphibians tied together with wood. Of the swamp dwellers making a living of the special woods that have been selected for their grain.
I choked the water twice, he'd bring his aunt to ally me in the waters, making me learn to hold breath in the water. The green hues, against a warty smile of my father of good times.
Good times..
It's been a while now that I look at my passions on the internet, trying to find a what it's worth to form a study group. I'm handling my way of carpentry out of organic matter with others, out of a glitz hub search. This internet of ideas.
I'm swimming underground, trying not to swallow the water.