The creek had some thin bare ice and some small drifts of snow blown across it. The muddy ground in the creek bottom had a thick frozen crust so that is was slippery and hard, but it gave way slightly when he walked on it.
This is was the place. It needed some kind of winter fence to keep the livestock from ranging too far and yet allow a passage for the snowmelt and the trash it carried when the weather warmed.
He dropped the axe so he could untie the heavy bag and as he looked down saw that there were tracks from several wild animals. The spore connected the willow bluffs oneither side of the creek.
Wednesday, December 28, 2005
Monday, December 26, 2005
Fresh Bread and Jam
Ez saw the colt bolt through the opening when he opened the gate for the mare. He looked at the animal frisking away. The food he had eaten that morning came into his mind.
Saturday, December 24, 2005
Saturday, December 17, 2005
Probably just a dream. Ezra.
The air seemed heavy and he couldn't see clearly in the dusk.
Tayto! Do you remember that man with the big brindle dog. He walked back and forth across the road looking down and the dog would follow every step he took?
Back and forth, back and forth.
They stayed out there on the road so long and no one came down the road, it seemed like all day. Maybe they are still out there.
Or did I dream that this happened, Tayto?
Tayto! Do you remember that man with the big brindle dog. He walked back and forth across the road looking down and the dog would follow every step he took?
Back and forth, back and forth.
They stayed out there on the road so long and no one came down the road, it seemed like all day. Maybe they are still out there.
Or did I dream that this happened, Tayto?
Saturday, December 10, 2005
Ez Nods Off-A Short Story
The bunkhouse was quiet. No buzzing from flies and mosquitoes that night. A little snow sifted onto the floor from the hole in the roof where the stovepipe was going to go. The sky was still light through the hole.
The hands were islands of misery, bodies stiff and numb. They played Ma Jong and picked at sores and callouses, shedding skin as if they were turning into butterflies. The man in the southwest bunk pulled blankets and straw over himself, imagined the sun on his body in the morning.
The hands were islands of misery, bodies stiff and numb. They played Ma Jong and picked at sores and callouses, shedding skin as if they were turning into butterflies. The man in the southwest bunk pulled blankets and straw over himself, imagined the sun on his body in the morning.
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