Wagon Ride

Yesterday wasn't all that great. A trip to town was in a mule pulled wagon shaking as four iron strapped wooden wheels did an erratic dance across holes,  ruts, and river rock in the sunbaked dirt road. Our rear ends soon aching from the wooden seats endless pounding, labored breathing from stifling dust, little rivulets of sweat burning our eyes, itching dust streaked faces and a mid summer sun that burned our body and soul, and had no pity on man or beast. Mouth dry as an unplowed cotton field. Pop pulled over and we climbed down from the wagon, scooted down the red clay bank to the shallow creek. "Watch out for the minnows, don't drink any". We cupped our hands and scooped up cold clear water that gushed out of the earth from an underground river that began somewhere far away. Thirst quinched, dirt streaks washed off of our faces, and momentarily cooled by the slightest of breezes we climbed back up the bank, got in the wagon and the torture started all over again.