Top Stop

Not full stop. Rain stop on the hill top. By the bin by the town. The township’s cemetery would be closer but the town’s built out to it. Turn northwest and I farm the three forties around that one. The Stay At Gone Mom helped me finish up moving there this morning from north of the interstate two miles away on my northernmost quarter section.

Headed back home on the corn run. One done and a farm a brother harvested the corn on with three more to go. All five farm’s beans were cut by me on the bean run north. Augured once and out of here. The world gets them after Bunge of north America crushes them. They get the oil too. Fly on that you greedy bastards.

I’ll fly when I fall out of my next whatever. Any landing you walk away from, eventually. Falling seems to be what we are here to do. Falling into whomsoever’s warm embrace when we first push our way and get pushed out of the home we’ve so quickly outgrown for only the first of many times. Falling in love with the mother of the children we fall in love with. Falling for all the bait and switch schemes that follow. Falling …….

But ’tis the season. Trees need company

Then, there.

Cc