The first substantive entry in this thingie's short history
Well, Cathy told me this was good and its partly because of this story she convinced me into doing this so its fitting it be the first substantive entry!.
An August Day
Sweat poured off of his brow as he cut a swath through the oats "I've gotta put some AC in this thing" he thought to himself, the dust in the cab playing in the light coming through his right window. It was getting late, around seven, the sun was low in the horizon and looking very yellow and a lot dimmer than before. That did nothing to alleviate the heat though, as the August humidity held it tight in the air. The field was nearly done. Dewite had just picked up the gravity wagon he'd been depositing bushels of oats in all day, he'd harvest the rest and drive it back to the farm with the combine. He watched as Dewite drove off, the wheels of his tractor agitating the dirt road and sending a plume of dust in the air. He spun the wheel to his right as he reached the field's end and prepared to circle back, cutting yet another ten foot strip of the golden grain. Now cutting Northeast, he could again see the ominous clouds in the sky, a few miles off, that reminded him why he was smart to have cut this field today. Another day and the rain would have beat the crop down and make the field too wet to cut for another week. His stomach growled. He'd skipped lunch to get started in time to finish this field before nightfall and now he was begininng to regret his meager breakfast of a peanut butter and jelly sandwhich and two scrambled eggs. A turn to the left now and this looked to be his second to last. "Just fifteen more minutes 'til dinner" he said to his stomach. Despite his words, his gut responded simply with a gurgle and went on reminding him just how bad a person he was. As his eyes raomed back toward the road, he saw a dust plume "Whats this?" he thought aloud. Anything Dewite left behind should surely have settled by now. However, he could see that this plume was advancing and at its base a green (everyone else called it brown) pickup heading his way. He smiled, opened his door, threw out his left arm in a wave at the approaching truck, closed his door and turned for his final pass on the field, straw falling from the separators of his old John Deere a little faster than before.
He finished, wheeled around and stopped about thirty feet short of the road. The truck had parked but its driver had not yet exited. He turned the combine off and, after checking the grain level in the bin, climbed down and began to walk toward the truck. The door opened. A denim clad leg felt its way to the ground and then the rest of her hopped out, picnic basket in hand. "Damn.." he thought, she was so beautiful, the evening wind blowing her brown hair gently and the yellow sun just setting her in her best light, changing the light blue tee she wore into a surreal green to his eyes, but most importantly of all, she had food! "Whats this?" he enquired as he relieved her of the basket. She reached back into the truck, produced a blanket and responded "Dinner." She smiled and proceeded to lay the blanket upon the stubble of freshly cut oats. Explaining, "I stopped by the house, your mother let me know you hadn't stopped for lunch and where you were, so I went about fixing the problem." "Thanks." he said as he set the basket upon the middle of the blanket and gave her a kiss "What would I do without you?" "Starve." she smirked and motioned for him to sit. They sat and from the basket she produced, much to his delight, a pot of mashed potatoes and a few pieces of fried chicken. The sun was on the horizon now and opposite it, a near full gibbous moon was climbing up the sky. Such a moment he paid but a few seconds notice to. This chicken was good. Twenty minutes later, chicken decimated and potatoes consumed, they lay on their backs looking up at the sky. Toward the West, the sky was a collection of pastels. To the East the moon loomed large and was beginning to shine with the sun's disappearing act, creating ghostly images of the foreboding clouds. Above them the brightest of stars were beginning to show and he was doing his best to label them. Failing in this, he sat up and pointed westward "See that?"
She rose as well "See what?"
"Those two bright 'stars' just above the skyline."
"Yah, what of them?"
"Well, the dimmer one is mercury and the really bright one, venus"
"What?" she asked, a playful trace of anger in her voice.
"Yah, mercury and venus." he responded.
At this she responded by gently wrapping her arms around him and asked "Are you sure...?"
"Yup." he answered.
Without further warning she held a little tighter and rolled his unsuspecting self over, landing atop him and staring into his eyes "I belive you are mistaken." she smirked.
"How's this?" he asked, a smile curling around his lips.
"I am Venus." she declared, coyly. "That..." she pointed westward "...is a planet."
Feigning fear he spoke "Forgive me, your majesty, I had no desire to anger one such as you, a goddess no less." And at that he reached up, grabbed her shoulders and rolled her over, she countered however, and they continued to roll into one of the many trails of straw left behind from his days work. He landed atop her and simply looked into her hazel eyes, such an exotic color it was in this light and in his eyes. Her porcelain skin, red freckles and brown bangs dangling in her eyes under his gaze, he smiled "So pretty, so very pretty you are Miss Venus." She reached up and pulled a piece of straw from his hair. Ah, a moment such as this, one could live in forever.
Oil, thick, red, transmission oil, draining on his face. "Ugh!" he gurgled and wheeled himself out from under his machine, deftly sliding an oil pan underneath to catch the viscous red fluid as it drained. "Frak!" he exclaimed, then proceeded to curse himself for his error. "Day dreaming of impossibilities and equipment maintenance are not to be mixed!" his mind chided him. Fumbling for his shop rag, he managed to clear his eyes of the gunk and then meandered through the dimly lit shop toward the sink. He turned the handles, a combination of dirt and rust poured out into a little cloud. The water followed, lukewarm no matter how he adjusted the handles. With a sigh he went about washing his face, scolding himself, as the gritty pumice soap worked out the oil, for his carelessness. Whistfully, he looked back toward the combine. He had just cut that field two days ago and it had rained yesterday, quite heavily at that, but there was no truck, no girl, no dinner under the evening sky, just an August day, highlighted by a copper sun alone. Another sigh, looking out of the shop, over the farm, he could see Josh, flying through the mud on his ATV, heading toward him. The oil was done draining so he removed the catch pan, dumped the oil into the waste oil barrel, they'd find some use for it, and walked back to the shop door as Josh pulled up. Josh was a sight to be seen, his six foot, 270 pound frame was clad in camo pants, covered in mud, and a grey Rocky Mountain Elk Foundation tee shirt, almost equally splattered with mud. "Mom says you have fifteen minutes before she puts dinner in the fridge, so if you want it hot you better head on down." Josh declared. "Aight." he responded, "I'll be down in ten." He turned around, grabbed an oil can and pumped it full of new oil, replaced the old plug on the transmission case and cimbed up the side of the machine, opened the lid and filled it up. That task completed, he wiped his brow once more, the clouds still blocked the sun but that didn't change the temperature any, turned the lights off and walked down to the house. He'd look into that air conditioner tomorrow.
He opened the door and was immediately greeted by the sound of his little dog yipping at him as he sat down and untied his shoes. Bending down to pet the furry little beast, he heard the unmistakeable tales of doom and disaster offered daily by the news. He picked up the little dog and greeted his mother in the living room. "Potatoes on the stove, chicken in it." she said. His right eyebrow arched, wondering how he'd managed to foresee that. "What?" she asked. "Nothing." he smiled as he handed the dog over "I guess I'll just have to take care of that then." She returned to her tv and he helped himself to supper. Sitting at the table, he pondered the dream as he just sort of turned a drumstick in his hands, oblivious to its existance. "I wish that were me." he thought. "Maybe, just maybe." the same voice that scolded him for the dream. A yip. His dog sat to his left, letting him know she'd lost patience for his reverie. "Aww heck." he sighed, slumped his shoulders and began to eat, tossing the little mutt those bits that were unsatifactory to him. Maybe, just maybe.
An August Day
Sweat poured off of his brow as he cut a swath through the oats "I've gotta put some AC in this thing" he thought to himself, the dust in the cab playing in the light coming through his right window. It was getting late, around seven, the sun was low in the horizon and looking very yellow and a lot dimmer than before. That did nothing to alleviate the heat though, as the August humidity held it tight in the air. The field was nearly done. Dewite had just picked up the gravity wagon he'd been depositing bushels of oats in all day, he'd harvest the rest and drive it back to the farm with the combine. He watched as Dewite drove off, the wheels of his tractor agitating the dirt road and sending a plume of dust in the air. He spun the wheel to his right as he reached the field's end and prepared to circle back, cutting yet another ten foot strip of the golden grain. Now cutting Northeast, he could again see the ominous clouds in the sky, a few miles off, that reminded him why he was smart to have cut this field today. Another day and the rain would have beat the crop down and make the field too wet to cut for another week. His stomach growled. He'd skipped lunch to get started in time to finish this field before nightfall and now he was begininng to regret his meager breakfast of a peanut butter and jelly sandwhich and two scrambled eggs. A turn to the left now and this looked to be his second to last. "Just fifteen more minutes 'til dinner" he said to his stomach. Despite his words, his gut responded simply with a gurgle and went on reminding him just how bad a person he was. As his eyes raomed back toward the road, he saw a dust plume "Whats this?" he thought aloud. Anything Dewite left behind should surely have settled by now. However, he could see that this plume was advancing and at its base a green (everyone else called it brown) pickup heading his way. He smiled, opened his door, threw out his left arm in a wave at the approaching truck, closed his door and turned for his final pass on the field, straw falling from the separators of his old John Deere a little faster than before.
He finished, wheeled around and stopped about thirty feet short of the road. The truck had parked but its driver had not yet exited. He turned the combine off and, after checking the grain level in the bin, climbed down and began to walk toward the truck. The door opened. A denim clad leg felt its way to the ground and then the rest of her hopped out, picnic basket in hand. "Damn.." he thought, she was so beautiful, the evening wind blowing her brown hair gently and the yellow sun just setting her in her best light, changing the light blue tee she wore into a surreal green to his eyes, but most importantly of all, she had food! "Whats this?" he enquired as he relieved her of the basket. She reached back into the truck, produced a blanket and responded "Dinner." She smiled and proceeded to lay the blanket upon the stubble of freshly cut oats. Explaining, "I stopped by the house, your mother let me know you hadn't stopped for lunch and where you were, so I went about fixing the problem." "Thanks." he said as he set the basket upon the middle of the blanket and gave her a kiss "What would I do without you?" "Starve." she smirked and motioned for him to sit. They sat and from the basket she produced, much to his delight, a pot of mashed potatoes and a few pieces of fried chicken. The sun was on the horizon now and opposite it, a near full gibbous moon was climbing up the sky. Such a moment he paid but a few seconds notice to. This chicken was good. Twenty minutes later, chicken decimated and potatoes consumed, they lay on their backs looking up at the sky. Toward the West, the sky was a collection of pastels. To the East the moon loomed large and was beginning to shine with the sun's disappearing act, creating ghostly images of the foreboding clouds. Above them the brightest of stars were beginning to show and he was doing his best to label them. Failing in this, he sat up and pointed westward "See that?"
She rose as well "See what?"
"Those two bright 'stars' just above the skyline."
"Yah, what of them?"
"Well, the dimmer one is mercury and the really bright one, venus"
"What?" she asked, a playful trace of anger in her voice.
"Yah, mercury and venus." he responded.
At this she responded by gently wrapping her arms around him and asked "Are you sure...?"
"Yup." he answered.
Without further warning she held a little tighter and rolled his unsuspecting self over, landing atop him and staring into his eyes "I belive you are mistaken." she smirked.
"How's this?" he asked, a smile curling around his lips.
"I am Venus." she declared, coyly. "That..." she pointed westward "...is a planet."
Feigning fear he spoke "Forgive me, your majesty, I had no desire to anger one such as you, a goddess no less." And at that he reached up, grabbed her shoulders and rolled her over, she countered however, and they continued to roll into one of the many trails of straw left behind from his days work. He landed atop her and simply looked into her hazel eyes, such an exotic color it was in this light and in his eyes. Her porcelain skin, red freckles and brown bangs dangling in her eyes under his gaze, he smiled "So pretty, so very pretty you are Miss Venus." She reached up and pulled a piece of straw from his hair. Ah, a moment such as this, one could live in forever.
Oil, thick, red, transmission oil, draining on his face. "Ugh!" he gurgled and wheeled himself out from under his machine, deftly sliding an oil pan underneath to catch the viscous red fluid as it drained. "Frak!" he exclaimed, then proceeded to curse himself for his error. "Day dreaming of impossibilities and equipment maintenance are not to be mixed!" his mind chided him. Fumbling for his shop rag, he managed to clear his eyes of the gunk and then meandered through the dimly lit shop toward the sink. He turned the handles, a combination of dirt and rust poured out into a little cloud. The water followed, lukewarm no matter how he adjusted the handles. With a sigh he went about washing his face, scolding himself, as the gritty pumice soap worked out the oil, for his carelessness. Whistfully, he looked back toward the combine. He had just cut that field two days ago and it had rained yesterday, quite heavily at that, but there was no truck, no girl, no dinner under the evening sky, just an August day, highlighted by a copper sun alone. Another sigh, looking out of the shop, over the farm, he could see Josh, flying through the mud on his ATV, heading toward him. The oil was done draining so he removed the catch pan, dumped the oil into the waste oil barrel, they'd find some use for it, and walked back to the shop door as Josh pulled up. Josh was a sight to be seen, his six foot, 270 pound frame was clad in camo pants, covered in mud, and a grey Rocky Mountain Elk Foundation tee shirt, almost equally splattered with mud. "Mom says you have fifteen minutes before she puts dinner in the fridge, so if you want it hot you better head on down." Josh declared. "Aight." he responded, "I'll be down in ten." He turned around, grabbed an oil can and pumped it full of new oil, replaced the old plug on the transmission case and cimbed up the side of the machine, opened the lid and filled it up. That task completed, he wiped his brow once more, the clouds still blocked the sun but that didn't change the temperature any, turned the lights off and walked down to the house. He'd look into that air conditioner tomorrow.
He opened the door and was immediately greeted by the sound of his little dog yipping at him as he sat down and untied his shoes. Bending down to pet the furry little beast, he heard the unmistakeable tales of doom and disaster offered daily by the news. He picked up the little dog and greeted his mother in the living room. "Potatoes on the stove, chicken in it." she said. His right eyebrow arched, wondering how he'd managed to foresee that. "What?" she asked. "Nothing." he smiled as he handed the dog over "I guess I'll just have to take care of that then." She returned to her tv and he helped himself to supper. Sitting at the table, he pondered the dream as he just sort of turned a drumstick in his hands, oblivious to its existance. "I wish that were me." he thought. "Maybe, just maybe." the same voice that scolded him for the dream. A yip. His dog sat to his left, letting him know she'd lost patience for his reverie. "Aww heck." he sighed, slumped his shoulders and began to eat, tossing the little mutt those bits that were unsatifactory to him. Maybe, just maybe.