Waves rolled across the grain , golden in the late afternoon August sun. The zephyrs carried the notes of grasshoppers and crickets, the scents of fiber and earth, and the faint anise of the goldenrods lining the fields.
Sat in a rocking chair upon the porch of the farmhouse, the old man drew Suggested: The old man sat rocking on the farmhouse porch, drawing… a deep breath through his nose. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and the radio had just said it wouldn’t be for another couple of days.
“Harvest tomorrow!” he called out.
“What’s that, Dad?”
A younger version of the old man stepped out on the porch carrying two glasses of lemonade, glittering with condensation.
“Oh, nothing,” grunted the old man. “ Just letting them know. Harvest tomorrow! Keep ”