What can YOU say in six sentences?
I painted an old fish camp dock many gray hairs ago, its slips all filled with aluminum boats, and called it “The Cows are Lying Down” because the fish don’t bite when the bovines aren’t standing.
I don’t know what the hell to expect if the cows are lying with the fishes, but that’s what they were doing when I passed through the Midwest last week.
Much of the corn was the color of October, which would’ve been okay except it was July. Many farmers had begun amputating the withered stalks and baling them for the cattle weathering the triple-digit heat in ponds reduced to mud holes.
When we arrived at Spirit Lake to greet our fellow writers, the mercury was hovering at 105 degrees, and by the time I’d unloaded the car, my sweat glands were lawn sprinklers without the skika-shika-shika.
I was worried I’d made the wrong choice, a terrible mistake, until the breeze came off the lake and reminded me of my first kiss.