Why do I seem to be so intrigued with a bunch of sticks and a rock on a river bank at dusk? As I'm pondering that thought I can hear the whispering, that voice, in the stillness. Maybe you know one like it, pestering thoughts, that just won't let it go. I need that little voice. The one that says "Jump!.... no wait!... don't jump!" after I am already committed to the air.
In this case as I landed on my side and when the water ripples finally smoothed out again, I saw this set of eyes looking me over with that set of ..."Brows" .
I was a bit uncomfortable at first. Then I recognized the face or rather the brows. The voice was half right.
In my teen years I had met this older refined gentlemen with the biggest grey eyebrows. He was a wonderful guy in a grandfatherly sort of way. He would shuffle into the gas station where I worked and take an occasional nap on the stacked cases of oil in the back room while I would either change the oil in his car or change his tires. Some days he would just show up for no reason other than to get out of the house and nap.
There were always a few free range, uncut, untrimmed, stragglers in the amount of hair above his eyes.The guys with thinning hair would covet the thick wooly bears on his forehead.
I liked the guy he was never in a hurry and always treated me kindly, asking if I had time to change the "Firestones". The summer tires to the winter treads, or put in some Quakerstate.
It can wonder a guy at times, how a rock and a few twigs can take him back to the teen years at a gas station. I continued to recalled the time I would try to wake the "oil case snoozer" up, by airing up a tire on the changer. I would watch and wait for the seal to loudly pop into place. Even though I knew it was coming, I always jumped. He just slept on through it with that slight snoozing sound until he had finished his 18 holes of nap on the "cases".
I decided not to name this image after Mr. Purdy even though it reminds me of him, but I am torn between "Firestone" or "Quakerstate".
What's your vote?