For IG's Out of Standard Challend on Imaginary Gardens with Real Toads.
With one tractor wheel hopelessly stuck in a blow out, he unwrapped the foil from his sandwich and put his feet on the dash and ate unfettered. In the glow of the radio light, he accompanied Waylon and Willie in twangy ham and cheese tones. Twelve miles from the house, he would be here through the night, but that was alright by him. He always had his sketch pad and his flask and in this case, something he had little of these days, time. Sitting in a million dollars worth of equipment, it still boiled down to a sandwich, Waylon and Willie and a working man’s hopes and dreams, but mostly the sandwich.
She hung up her cell phone and heaved a breathy sigh as she looked out the window toward the Lindsay’s northern most beet field. But she couldn’t see him, he was too far out. He wouldn’t be back for breakfast, maybe lunch, but probably not. She turned the heat up to seventy eight, not because she was cold, just because she could. She made some tea and sat wrapped in his Denver Broncos blanket on the front porch and wondered how things might have been different if he would have taken that job on the dairy farm in Phoenix, a little closer to civilization. That damned great horned owl was sitting on top of light pole scanning the grounds for another easy meal, two cats had gone missing already. It was definitely survival of the fittest out here when night fell.
He drifted to off to sleep with thoughts of fly fishing Montana and what his calves would bring at the auction.
She drifted off to sleep wondering when it would be a good time to tell he was going to be a father.
Neither of them could hear the flap of the wings and the almost silent kill as the cat population on the farm suffered yet another set back.
Copyright Corey Rowley 2012