Semi-Daily Scribbles

After Johnny's wall went up, he needed a place to bury his secrets. The once sprawling, very public garden was now impenetrable after many hours of prison-building. But Johnny felt the isolation was well worth it. His mind was put to ease knowing no more tender sprouts would be plucked, pulled apart, and added to his father's collection of pressed memories. There was the matter, however, of being rid of the results on display in the parlor. Gilt frames and cloches contained the fruit of a botanist's labor. Johnny's father was nothing if not meticulous in cataloguing his specimens. For a brief moment, Johnny considered hurling the lot over the fence of his fortress. He realized this was no plan at all, and walked the 40 paces to the tool shed to grab a pick ax, a shovel, and a wheelbarrow. He entered the family cottage and tread with light steps upon the polished floor of the parlor. Johnny looked at the flattened and pinned prize under glass. The irises lost nothing of their violet-blue charm after so many seasons on the mantel. He picked up the enshrined sacrifice and began the task of carting away his worry.