The big rough-looking man leaned on a splintered old post-hole digger, pulled off his John Deere cap and dusted it against his jeans. “You got an iron rock field here. It won’t perc.”
“What can I do about it?” Tommy looked upset.
“Dynamite would do it, but you cain’t get a permit for that no more. This here’s a perched water table. It could come a frog-strangler and still you won’t get no water under that rock. It’ll just run off.”
The man’s blunt words and his soil percolation test ruined Tommy’s hopes for building a cabin on the land his Grandfather had left him.
I watch the slow ebb and flow of tidal water at the marina and think about that iron rock. Lucky for me, I have enough emotional dynamite to blow up the hard pan of my torpor. Soon, the words will percolate like an old coffee pot, pulling, filtering, and brewing up a word storm.
WordPress Daily Prompt: percolate