The summer sun beats on his back.
The beads of sweat pebble his brow
As he walks along the tracks,
Exchanging knowing stares with cows.
The distant calls of pheasant mark
Sudden gunshots-insistent barks.
Wheatfields soar in farmer's delight
While combines harvest until last light.
Filbert orchards form their rows,
Filtering external glow.
Mysterious shadows in twilight dance,
Repelling the sun's advance.
Shifting gravel beneath his soles
Explain his jeans with knee-worn holes.
With eyes fixed on the path ahead,
His ears are tuned to sounds of dread.
Weariness sets in and claims
The fatigue of hunger's bane.
He rounds a corner and hears the call.
His mom yells out, "Dinnertime! Did you fall?"
August 2006 by Glen Alan Woods
No comments:
Post a Comment