Summer Time

It's a hot, sultry evening here in the Shenandoah Valley. Eight o'clock and the light is beginning to fade. It used to be the time when us men trudged in from the fields sweat pouring out every orifice, too tired to talk, eager for a swig of ale and a plate of vittles. We could hear the women folk chatting, their voices rising and falling like angel birds.

I live on what once was a 250 acre family farm, cut down to 5 acres. The Wine family lived in this house more than 100 years. Evenings such as this, I can almost hear their voices, their shouts and joshings. All the brothers looking as shiny as peas in a pod. This is how I imagine them.

The house is quiet tonight. Only myself and Margot, my wife. She's upatairs in bed reading, the fan wafting a small breeze over her unclothed body. Even in our time, the house once rang with voices. Grandma Margaret, our son Sorrel, our former house partners Barbara & Charlie and their daughter Jessie; and later there was Solly, Tracy, Cee Cee, Renai, Mitch. They're all gone now, some to the Great Beyond, the others scattered around the globe. Just us here now. Us two with only our memories. Margot stays busy with the garden and her art. She is a world class artist. And I keep playing the laptop keyboard with three, sometimes four fingers, stringing words together into some kind of pattern that tells a stroy.

The night is closing us in. Outside, our bird friends are settling in for the night, making their last calls to each other. Amazing how suddenly they become active after the heat of the day, active for only a few minutes before the dark. And the baby steers in my neighbor's field bellowing, moaning you might say. I think they are young enough to be calling for their moms. They were moved into that field a few days ago, haven't gotten used to the reality of no mom.

The cheery birds on the one hand and the sad calves on the other, slowly hunkering down for the night. And me - somewhere in between those two states. My mood is ripe for turning to work on my novel. The people, conjured out of my imagination - my friends, if you will, are awaiting me.

Ta...