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Tags: woods

Granny said, "Don't cross the tracks. Because if you do, you will be late getting back for your supper. There's ghost in those woods, that talk to little boys and they play strings."

But being inquisitive and like other little boys. I and my red wagon set out to Finley Woods. Accompanied by my beagle, Omar Khayyam and a bag of Red Hots. And a beeper on my belt.

When I crossed the tracks, I looked back. Just in case, granny was watching from her window up above. But I only saw the sunset reflecting off the glass. As I pulled the wagon's caisson loaded down with a make-believe country band and grandpa's fiddle. A fiddle that Charlie Daniels played when he came to Georgia. Chasing the devils. 

And as the acorns fell and autumn leaves sailed like kites. I whistled to my forest friends and the hoe-down spoke. Of  "Sunday Morning Coming Down." But it was only Tuesday. 

Then the beeper went off calling me to supper. And when I got home, granny ask if I saw a ghost?     

Just someone that said, "Hello, I'm Johnny Cash."  









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