Hay Gathering

A sliver of shade On the east side of the barn Was where he unfolded his chair. The pink lemonade stung In the cracks of his blistered lips. A panting breath Of wind came by. Cooling the sweat On the back of his neck. He gazed off at the flaxen rolls And dreamt all of them were stacked In the boiling hot barn. Quietly, he watched a hay devil In its whimsical spinning, As it went about Its work under the sun. Lazily circling the field, Taunting the afternoon For the remaining dew And taking with it the last bit of moisture. A tumble weed at his feet Enjoyed the comfort of the shade with him.