escape

It’s about this time of the season when I start to really get distracted with my daydreaming. Yesterday, as I stood next to Dee the horse protecting her from Grace, the freezing rain beginning to soak through my jacket and the mixture of melt and manure seeping through my boots my thoughts were on the first tee of Dutch Elm golf course. I’ve put my cigar down and am taking practice swings with The Big Dog, looking down the fairway and feeling the heat of the sun on my shoulders. My hands are cracked and sore from Friday’s work, stained with compost and stone dust over and over so that no amount of scrubbing gets them clean. The garish, somewhat ill-fitting polo I wear unbuttoned and with no undershirt. The triangle of white skin it reveals on my chest looks ridiculous.

Other times its Sunday evening, the farm has been closed for a few hours, and I’m walking in bare feet down through the shrubs and trees to check their water levels on my way to the rows of lettuce and herbs out in the main vegetable garden. Insects buzz in the air. You can see the beams of the setting sun in the dust that is kicked up by my father’s car as he drives up the driveway.

I’ve been thinking this way a lot these days, but I guess I’m happy to have these thoughts and memories to escape to when winter becomes too tiresome.