My backpack holds many dear items: big blue binders, shiny green folders, multi-colored pens and lengths of vibrant ribbon. The folders are nestled comfortably between my big, blue, plastic, fantastic binder and the crisp fabric of my “pack”. I don't go anywhere without my backpack.
My backpack is dirty. Not because I neglect the blue sack of elements, but because it has so much purpose in my life that I can't bear to risk it being torn to shreds in the washing machine. It has been a constant, devoted companion on my travels; never complaining when I trudge through rain and snow while lacking an umbrella. My backpack consistently keeps my precious folders and binders dry and safe from the elements. It has served me well.
Out of respect for my stand strong “pack”, I will remain faithful until the very end. Only until the zippers stray from their track or the bottom falls out will I then replace my handy backpack, ever remembering what it has done for me. Faithfully and without resistance.
No comments:
Post a Comment