The Inheritance

The chainsaw I inherited from grandfather felt smooth and powerful in my hands. It's weight was surprisingly light. The old man must have had a real time with this machine. I could picture him in his sleeveless t-shirt - a yellow bandanna covering his sweaty face as he sliced deep into the great sycamores of our county. I tried to measure the impact he had had on the people in his life. The wild way he would flail about when he was happy. It reminded me of a naive school girl. His giddy high pitched laugh, his bashful blush when complimented, his slack hands fluttering like a baby bird. Most people will recall his enchanting gait - the effortless mince as he carried himself about on his daily errands to town. But the one thing I will always hold on to, the one thing that keeps me in awe - was his unapologetic hatred of all written words and his complete dismissal of any hard facts or 'devil's science' as he liked to call it.