The Gathering

The Gathering Brought together. Late summer along the North Platte At the wandering river bed flanked by cottonwoods. They have been drawn, emptying out their small town for the celebration to come. Driving in Packard’s, Ford Coupes, and old dented red Chevrolet pickups with hay stalks and a pitch fork scattered in the bed. Hot, steamy hot; hot enough to hear the corn grow in the silence of crickets and cicadas. Women in their finery-hats, long cotton dresses, rolled stocking tops, Tight uncomfortable church going shoes. Talk about home and children and prices and school year to come, dreams. Men leaning against the back drop cars. Coats shed in the heat, braces hold the cotton trousers up to the shirts Now stained with the sweat marks under their arms. Well used hands with blunt fingers from the farm work and Forearms from milking. Talk of summer ball, American Caesar and the faraway places called Chosin and Korea. Wooden hampers filled with cold chicken, home canned pickles, tomatoes and beans, deviled eggs, Potato salad, iced tea in gallons, melting fresh churned ice cream. Day runs over, complete for the celebration of joining two to make one Forever, or at least until the end of their time.