Shadows of March

Winter brought one more snowfall. I barely get to the top of the railroad berm on Ring Road and I see my mornings work. It has to happen now. Twenty minutes earlier might have been better. My paints are set in the passenger seat along with a jar of clean water and all of my brushes. Times-a-wastin'. I still feel those days gone by; this farm in full swing. All of it's history which has impregnated my soul is moving about in a ghostly rush. Soon Anna will appear to sweep the snow from the steps and smoke will pour from the chimeney. My hands fly instinctively; the process is without cognitive interference. Leave it alone now. It's finished. At Hank's, Vicky will bellow my same loudly when I come through the door. Hank's Place is now a friendly haven. Cream dried beef over potatoes sounds perfect. God has blessed me. Thank You Sandra Lee.— Eddie Flotte