He's cleaning out. . . his room. My farmer. Spending time in his son's room. Picking through the pieces of a life. A life interrupted. Abruptly. I am left numb. Head gear for Wrestling. His uniform. Still here. A procrastinator; like me. Things we need to return. Dry Erase markers for his white board. His attempt to get organized. His belt. I finger the holes. One by one. I don't want this to be my walk. The burning creeps toward my heart. It feels like it is too much to ... View Post
Fencing With My Farmer. . . The Poor Man
The grass is growing and fencing needs to be done. The farmer heads out. He's been to church, out to lunch and had a little down time reading. But now it's back at it. After awhile I call to check and see how he is. He's headed across the river. I tell him to wait, I'll go with him. I throw on my jeans and a t shirt, put on my boots and head out the door. The wind, gentle. The sun; warm. I meet up with him at the river crossing. He drives the tractor over. It's been years since we have worked like this together. I have ... View Post
