Living in the country affords some luxuries, one of which is having lots of bonfires and gatherings of friends and family, around them. Over the years, our gatherings have included games when all the ‘kids’ were young, always guitars and singing, and…always Uncle Steve (‘Big Weave’) entertaining everyone with his numerous jokes and stories fresh from the ‘road.’ He was honored as a ‘Million Mile’ hauler.
‘ Big Weave’
His name is ‘Big Weave’ and his size could deceive in the
shadows of the bonfire at night,
and no one quite knew why the wind always blew ‘round
in circles from left to right.
He always seemed cold whenever he told exciting
stories as the wind blew hard
as he circled the fire without any ire, holding tight
to a stick from the yard.
The shadows he cast in the darkness didn’t last like
the stories remembered by all
of his truck driving days and all of the ways he
managed to answer the call
of driving through rain, over hilly terrain; to the cities
in his big rig, he’d go
and deliver his load then back on the road
to a place that they’d soon let him know.
He stops at a chair…. and…. in a stern stare, lays down
the stick on its side
and continues a tale while he picks up a pail
and empties on the fire, what’s inside.
The flames burst high, sending embers to the sky
with people moving back from the heat
and there’s chuckles in his talk, though he never stops his walk
and together they lose not a beat.
The fires have burned as the years have turned and yet
the gatherings prevail,
and while…. there’s less song, the talk is still long
and the food doesn’t live to be stale.
And the younger ones boast, as their marshmallows roast,
‘bout their dreams and what they believe,
but me, I just wait, like a fish for the bait, for the
bonfire stories from ‘Big Weave.’
The fires will claim, though they won’t be to blame, the
chairs that will empty in time,
And it’s easy to dream about what it will seem like
when years have completed the rhyme.
But they’ve burned for years through smiles and tears
and kept us all warm in the light.
So the hope is they’ll burn…. at every year’s turn
and the memories will flame…. strong and bright.
© 2012 t. j. gargano