Two figures sat on the porch of a small shack in western Oklahoma. The heat of the day beat upon the small house. The two figures sat in silence as they rocked back and forth. The figure on the right, a tall lanky man with a thin face which needed shaved for several days, sat wiping the sweat from his brow with a dirty hankechief long ago worn to a mere rag. His flanel shirt dirty and faded from many days of hard work in the scorching sun. He looked over at his companion a man of a shorter stature in much the same garb with the exeption of a straw hat perched on his head, who was looking out over a garden of withered plants. " Do ya reckon it'll rain any time soon?" The first pondered. " It don't look likely." replyed the other. "It's been a hard year so fer ain't it" asked the first. "That it has, it hasn't rained in three months" the first let out a long sigh. "Tis the sad truth, farming is hard work the way it is wit rain." "That it is." said the second. It had been a long time since it had rained on the humble home of the farmers. They had slaved in the sun toiling sun up to sun down to turn the dry soil and irrigate it so that they had some chance of a meager harvest. So far their efforts had raised a few shrivled crops but hardly enough to reward the efforts of the hard workers. "Do ya reckon the crops'll make it till the winter." asked the second. "can't say fer sure, ol boy, can't say fer sure." In the distance a horse and cart could be heard coming down the dirt road. The slouching figure in the seat of the cart hailed the two on the porch. "hullo naybors!" The two on the porch returned the salutation. "What news from the west?" the second asked. The figure in the cart grinned a tabacco yellowed smile. "word in town says that rains acoming.
![[send message]](https://www.writerscafe.org/images/mail.png){kind=small}
![[befriend]](https://www.writerscafe.org/images/friend.png){kind=small}
Share This
Email
Facebook
Twitter
Read Request
My Library
Flag Writing