[at-l] his last meal

[hopefl@xxxxxxxx (Lamar Powell)]

Well, here I sit in my home office surrounded by about four weeks worth
of food! I reckon I better find some boxes and get this stuff better
organized, and soon. The shopping and repackaging are bring the
realization that I=92m going to thru hike closer to home.
Today I had lunch with all the men I work with. It was a strange final
gathering before my departure. I could feel a tenseness and uneasiness in
the air. When the ax feel on me, it must have put some worry into their
minds. I regret that more than I know how to explain. We, my work team,
we were not real close friends off the job, but they are all men who
could be counted on to carry their share of the load. Anyone who has ever
worked in a group where it was necessary to watch your back all the time
will understand how rare and wonderful these men were to work with.
It is kinda funny in a way. I was the one who lost his job and I was the
only one who enjoyed my "final meal!" Some years ago I wrote a little
poem. I had come home from a terrible day at work. Some reflection on the
day and how my efforts contrasted with my values ended up in these lines:
MY FAVORITE KIND OF FEET

My favorite kind of feet would be
Unshackled from wing-tip brand
And lightly clad in heavy boots
On a distant mountain strand.

Not wall-locked in by schedule=92s need
Mired in desk and file
But coolly soaking in a creek
And resting for awhile.

O=92r fern lined path =91til camp is reached
After day=92s long end
With unlacing boots and rubbing soles

                   And coffee with a friend

Hopeful

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