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About This Author
My name is Joy, and I love to write.
Why poetry, here? Because poetry uplifts its writer, and if she is lucky enough, her readers, too. Around us, so many objects abound to write about. Once a poet starts with a smallest, most trivial object, he shall discover that his pen will spill out what is most delicate or most majestic hidden inside him. Since the classics sometimes dealt with lofty subjects with a lofty language, a person with poetry in his soul may incline to emulate that. That is understandable. Poetry does that to a person: it enlarges the soul and gives it wings. Yet, to really soar, a poet needs to take off from the ground.
 
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Everyday Canvas #1075622 added August 23, 2024 at 11:13am
Restrictions: None
The Greatest Favor
Prompt:
Please, use these words in your entry today : favor, item, create, stubborn, trustee, drain, landowner, finance and oil.
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Mrs. Henderson opened her kitchen door in the morning and watched the rolling hills surrounding her town. Then, her eyes stayed fixed on the vast and only fields in between the rocky hills. She was the town *trustee and *oil was discovered under those fields.
Where *finance was the issue, so much good could come from that oil to her town, which was on the brink of bankruptcy. Unfortunately, it had taken a month to try to even talk about it with the *stubborn *landowner of those fields, Mr. H. Grayson. All Grayson had to agree to was to sell those lands so the town could *create an oil refinery on them. Yet, Grayson saw that land as more than an *item to be traded, not even for profit.
Mrs. Henderson felt hopeless and *drained as Grayson's last words of rejection rang in her ears. "You people don't seem to understand. My land is not an item to be traded. It's my legacy! As a kid, I used to play ball on that land."
Mrs. Henderson suddenly perked up. Grayson's words had just given her another idea. She would approach him in a different way now and she hoped that would work. So she went back inside and readied herself by putting on her best business suit and even practicing her best smile at the mirror. Then, half an hour later, she knocked on Grayson's door.
She was offered a seat in the living room by Grayson's maid, and a few minutes later, Grayson showed up.
"Didn't I tell you people my last word on this issue?"
Mrs. Henderson arose, offering her hand with a smile. "Mr. Grayson, may I call you Harold, and please, do call me Judy. I've only come to ask you a *favor, Harold."
"All right, say your peace," said Grayson.
"Yes, it is about the land and the oil. But since you said something about your legacy that last time we talked, how about if we name the refinery and those fields as Grayson Fields and Grayson Refinery? That would be the greatest legacy you could leave to the generations after you, with your name possibly to be remembered even decades or centuries later, if only you would agree to sell that land to the town."
Grayson was taken aback. "Let me think about this," he stuttered. "In a day or two, I'll let you know, Mrs. Henderson, I mean, Judy."
Harold Grayson thought long and hard for a day and he decided to agree, not because of the money he would be receiving but because he had finally understood what his impact would be on his beloved town. In addition, he decided to accept only half the amount the town had offered him and the other half would be his donation to the project. He felt so much lighter and happier after his decision, and especially years after, when the refinery was built and his town thrived.
Sometimes, the greatest favor you can do is for later generations, those others you may never meet.
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