BHS Young Writer's 2011 Entry: Farm — Part VI of VI

Jeb once again found himself at the edge of his family’s farm. The cool wind, reminiscent of winter’s chill, bristled through his hair. He smiled.

This was the last patch of the farm that needed to be hoed before he could use the horse-drawn plow. He worked meticulously but with rhythm, a kind of relaxed style. He enjoyed the new strength in his arms as each weed was pulled with speed and precision; the hoe was a natural extension of his body.

He bent to adjust the leg of his pants. Jeb’s old pants had hung precipitously above his ankles so that his shoes jutted out awkwardly underneath. His father had since given him this pair; it was too long, baggy in the waist, and the patches in the knees betrayed its lengthy heritage.

It was perfect. He wore a belt and had rolled the cuffs up so they fit just below his ankles, higher if he was working in the mud or tall grass. As his father said, he would grow into them, and he wore them proudly. His old pair, faded but sturdy, waited somewhere in the back of Will’s closet.

The last clump of weeds released from the soil, and Jeb surveyed his work with satisfaction. He turned and headed for home.

Around him, the darkening sky beckoned the arrival of fireflies. They twinkled like stars as they danced above Jeb’s head, oblivious to the world around them. They danced without motive, without regret, as white and innocent as childhood. They were defiant, yet playful, fleeting, living only for the brief, sweet darkness of night.

And the Lord said, let there be light.