Back Forty
7.10.25 – 7.15.25 early mornings and late nights
A cruising altitude of 36,000 feet and 500 knots falls behind me.
The overgrown pasture has a muggy, low hold on early afternoon sun. Beat out above by wind gusts that even out, granting a forgiving breeze.
A body, now dust, lays to rest where it lived and worked himself to death. One of the last few in a dying breed of mid-western cowboy farmers.
“Had my boots on, at least,” he said before he was trampled one final time.
For Papa – a man who refused to quit no matter how many times he was asked.
Scribbles 'n Bits 
Leave a comment