There was, too, that sunlit day about 45 years ago I decided to climb the silo at the family dairy farm. Rung after rung, I climbed the tower. It must've only have reached about 30 feet or so off the ground though it surely seemed much higher. Designed to hold grain and silage intended to fatten up cows before the slaughter, it was not meant for little boys' adventures but I knew little of such things. I thought only of the sights that must await me at silo's edge. So I climbed, grasping one metal rung after another, thinking to myself, “Whatever you do, don't look down.”
Finally, I came to the metal edifice that would have to be opened before I knew the sights of the tower. Holding onto the door with my hands gone chalky from the concrete walls, I eased it open as it let loose that loud steel grating sound. At last, it flung open only to let an angry hive of bees into my face. With arms clad in Sunday sleeves that I swept back and forth before my cheeks, I kept my skin safe but lost my last grip on the silo. Away, I fell, tumbling end over end into the summer air filled with the sounds of lowing cattle and croaking toads, thinking this must be the end of Young Will...
...Ah, but I landed in the softest of hay and grain and dust from the nearby grazing calves. “Whoosh!” I said and wandered off in a daze.
Looking for trouble.
Will Mayo
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