The Truck

Like a beautiful vision from the past, it sat alone in the tall grass and weeds beside the old gray barn. Now a relic of another age it appeared sad resting on tires long flat and its varnished bed of wood, wet from the melting snow glowing in the early spring sun.

Time had taken its toll and the truck’s cab was filled with bird nests, cobwebs, and an old oil stained and a broken-down cardboard box filled with parts probably from its engine and transmission.

Its passenger side window was brown, half-opened and tilted sideways. The old green and beige vinyl bench-seat was worn through and the driver’s side appeared as though its springs had collapsed, leaning towards the door. The bone colored steering wheel now cracked from the cold of winter and hot summer sun appeared as ivory matching the nob on the rusted straight shift handle hanging down from the column to which it had been attached.

Long ago this had probably been its owner’s obsession, pampered, waxed every weekend and stored under an overhang next to the farmhouse when the weather was bad. Transporting him around town in pride, and when he took his children to and from the local school or market.

Now it was old just like it’s previous owner and worn from miles driven back and forth to and from the farm. Now it was alone and sitting beside a building that was way past its usefulness. A relic from another era and age, an oddity in today’s world. Yet it still had beauty, it still captured the eye and said, “look at me”.

Johnny Johnston
An artist/writer as well as graduate of the University of South Carolina with degrees in journalism/20th Century American Literature, and retired senior executive of several international hotel/resort corporations, Johnny is the product of the south having been raised in the ever-changing transient lifestyle of a Carolina coastal resort. A point where he discovered, within his 300-year-old heritage and the world's dramatic social/cultural shifts during the late '60s to early 80’s an ambitious hunger and overwhelming curiosity to touch, see and become a participant in the virtually unlimited possibilities offered to those who wish for and seek life experiences. A journey which when hearing its details initially makes one a bit skeptical, questioning its validity as it is hard to imagine that incidents such as these may have crossed one man’s lifetime. This is the fodder required to step into zones exposing one's personal inner self, which many of his paintings and the words he writes do, openly. An ability to see and hear the tragic, beautiful, accomplished, exciting journey in a life free of inhibitions allowing others the opportunity to live vicariously and become, through his works, a part of its future. His larger works which have been featured in several Colorado and Fredericksburg Texas galleries and resorts have produced a number of collectors and fans. However, over the years, his paintings are mostly viewed by friends, enthusiastic new artist encountered on the streets or a small number of acquaintances he meets when dining in local cafés with his wife.


  1. The value of things does not lie in the time in which they last but in the intensity with which they are lived. This is why there are unforgettable moments, inexplicable things and incomparable people.

    • You are exactly correct Aldo. So sorry for just getting back to you as I just saw this. This is the difference between love and lust. So much of that which we covet is only until it is possessed then it just becomes stuff. Thank you for your comment.