By Jim Hagarty
Whenever I am feeling low,
I feel low now and then,
I hop into my Chevy car
And take it for a spin.
I creep along the gravel roads
And look across the land.
It usually isn’t very long
Till I am fine again.
There’s something in that scenery,
The barns, the fields, the streams,
That calls out to my inner boy
And reignites my dreams.
To see wild creatures scat about
And farmers sowing grain
Reminds me of another time
When things were not insane.
I know it’s temporary.
Good feelings drift away.
But on those days when things seem grim
I love my Chevrolet.
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Author: Jim Hagarty
I am a 72-year-old retired journalist, busy recovering from a lifelong career as an unretired journalist. This year marks a half century of my scratching out little fables about life. My interests include genealogy, humour and music. I live in a little blue shack in Canada and spend most of my time trying to stay out of trouble. I am not that good at it. I also spent years teaching journalism. Poor state of journalism today: My fault. I have a family I don't deserve, a dog that adores me, and two cars the junk yard refuses to accept. My prized possessions include my old guitar and a razor my Dad gave me when I was 14 and which I still use when I bother to shave. Oh, and my great-great-grandfather's blackthorn stick he brought from Ireland in the 1850s. I have only one opinion but it is a good one: People take too many showers.
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