Men - one of the world's wonders

I do not know how men do it. I know of their strength, brawn, might. I know I am not so delicate that I can not lift a heavy pot, a filled sack of grain, harnesses, a basket of laundry, cart water. But I was quick to call for help when I knew I was outclassed. How many things do men handle for us? From heavy chores to the dirtiest of jobs and they roar with joy to fight our battles, protect our land, guard our very lives. What I wouldn't give for a man right now.

The morning had dawned bright and clear, a touch of warming spilled through the cobweb of clouds and pale blue sky, and I had my fill of a warm porridge, sweetened with a bit of dried berries. Hands to hips I surveyed the vast expanse of land and searched as I always did. I waved at the Seeker so far away. I examined both skyline and horizon for signs of life and accepted reluctantly that no Warrior Charming was going to come to my aid. Within the wagon, I moved the supplies to the far side, taking some of the weight off the out of place wheel. With only a small space for stretching out to sleep, the wagon held more supplies and goods than I realized we had taken. That was the first of the small sweats I worked up this day.

The next was taking apart the wide boards that ringed the driver's seat. At one time I thought they were the most wonderful things ever created. Bouncing on the seat over grass and mud, and rutted dirt roads, they saved me from toppling more than once. I thought they would come apart easily, since I had watched them be repaired with ease a few times before. I was so wrong. If my presence was unknown before, I couldn't imagine how the ahns of pounding, banging and grunted words didn't make it to some acutely trained ear.

Finally, it was time to work on the wheel itself. The idea was to wedge the boards beneath the wheel rim, giving leverage and a more solid surface to push the wheel against. In theory, while it would be a struggle, I figured to have the wagon on steadier ground by nightfall. Maybe even enjoy dinner on the driver's seat with my legs dangling over the edge while I watched the colors of sunset blossom over the sky. In theory.

When my boots met the unstable mud, the planks of wood wedged oddly, and the wheel moved...but just a bit. Just enough...to capture the side hem of my leather skirt beneath the heavy rim. Just enough to drag me down as it sank back again, mired more hopelessly in the muck. Just enough to twist the opening of the skirt in such away, straining at the closures, so that I couldn't get out of that leather corset if I tried. Then the wagon started to groan. A sound like a hundred bosk moaning, laboring in movement over the damp spring fresh ground.