The cows leisurely wander through the golden hayfields munching on their cud. Horses amble through the pasture. The sun rises over the pond. A fish splashes, sending ripples through the glasslike water. The sun shines into the windows of the farmhouse sitting at the end of the gravel road. The rooster cockles. Inside, pancakes sizzle on the flat top as children lazily rub their eyes while hovering around the kitchen table. The soft humming of country music can be heard through the little ones' murmuring morning inquiries. A drop of syrup lazily rolls down the side of the bottle; butter melts into a puddle at the end of the knife. Silverware clanks against now empty plates. Slothly, the man slides on his rugged boots, then places his tattered hat on his now graying head. Slowly getting up he places a kiss on his wife’s leathery check. He exists the aged house, leaving the hiss of the screen door in his wake. Through the delicate walls, he hears the children’s shrieks of amusement. Cranking his tractor while smiling contently to himself, he chugs into the hayfield. He thinks to himself, there couldn’t be a better place to live, and life couldn’t be sweeter.
