Field behind the Cemetery

I came here to see how the beaver pond would look in the afternoon light. Then the hay bale caught my eye. I had met the farmer a few days ago, stopped in the middle of a country road near here to check his trailer hitch connecting the baler to his truck.

I had not seen him in a couple of years to speak to him so I stopped to render assistance. After a couple of minutes of conversation he choked up and told me of the loss of his grandson just a few weeks ago. His only grandson and heir-apparent of the farmers' sizable land holdings.

It made me feel guilty, this afternoon, for contemplating a midnight return to this hay bale with enough spray paint to decorate it with a huge smiley face, to reflect my own recent change of mood.

I think I'll paint it in my mind and just keep the smile on my face.