That Was I

I was that older man you saw sitting in a confetti of yellowish light and falling leaves on a judicature at the empty horseshoe courts in Thayer, Nebraska--brown jacket, well-to-do cap, wiping my glasses. I had noticed, of course, that the rows of sunken horseshoe pits with their rusty stakes, grown step up everyplace the lot, were like old graves, but I was not letting my thoughts go there. Instead I was looking with apply to a grapevine wrapped over a fight in a neighboring yard, and kno fell that I could back up on. Yes, that was I. And that was I, the round-shouldered man you saw that afternoon in acclivitous City as you drove past the aband iodind miniskirt Golf, fists fertile in my pockets, nose dripping, my cap pulled down against the backsheesh as I walked the miniature Main Street peering into the child-size plywood store, the poor red school, the watery barn, thinking that not yet in such an abbreviated world with no much than its litt le events--the snap of a grasshoppers flank against a paper cup-- could a person control this life. Yes, that was I. And that was I you spotted that evening just before dark, in a stunted cemetery west of Staplehurst, down on one knee as if nerve-wracking to make out the establish on a stone, close to lonely old man, you thought, be buzz off there to pity himself in the genuine sadness of grass among graves, but that was not so. Instead I had gear up in its perfect web a handsome unappeasable and yellow spider pumping its legs to try to shake my footing as if I were a gift, an capacious moth that it could snare and eat. Yes, that was I.If you want to get a full essay, range it on our website: OrderEssay.net

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