So Cold

So cold, bitter winter this will be, he guesses. He looks over the browning fields out of his slightly elevated wooden plank porch. The porch has a dull dark brown color to it, aged as he was. Maybe not, probably even older than he is.

He remembered when he was a child, carefree, running across the fields with neighboring children. His momma would call out from afar when supper was ready. He always looked forward to the pumpkin pie which was an occasional treat. Papa would walk back in his denim overalls, hands rough from a lifetime of toil on the land. Papa would carry him on his back, giving him a view far out across the fields, barns and windmills.

It all seemed like yesterday. But it is all quiet now. No sound except that of flapping sounds and wild winds whooshing. Forced solitude this is, as the young no longer see the point of being here. Moved on. Packed up. Only the land and he.