just like every other night since i can remember, i was asked to go down to the well and fill a bucket full a water. so along the trail i walked. it seemed to take longer that night. it was so hot out i thought i might like to melt into the pail i was holdin, walk home and no one would even notice it was me inside of it.
once i made it to the well, i lifted the tin pail on the ledge and sat it aside awhile. i pulled up the old rope. i somehow rigged the bucket up and it made its way down 'til i heard a loud splash. after i thought it was rather full, i used all of the muscles i didn't have to pull that pail up the long, stone wall until it made itself safely back to the ledge from whence it came.
on my walk back, the pail seemed heavier than ever before. i thought i might like to just set it down and not look back. but i knew that wasn't an option. mama would beat me silly if i came home without it.
i got back to the kitchen and i smelled somethin brewing. i guess you could say i felt some what powerful, knowing that i had there in my possession what it was that my mama needed to finish the meal. either way, it didn't make the pail any lighter.
but, boy, i must've made such a face, or let out quite a grunt, when i brought that water pail inside, because my mama... she made those winkles in her forehead and looked straight at me with her dark, brown eyes and she said:
"you see that pail there, little girl. think of that pail like a persons heart. its big. its heavy. it would be mighty easy to quit tryin' so it wouldn't be so heavy to carry 'round...
but it takes hard work to keep it full, it takes dedication. sacrifice. and love for those who your keepin' it full for."
from that night on, i never wondered why my mama had wrinkles.
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