From Lisa-Jo Baker @ www.lisajobaker.com,
“We write for five minutes flat. All on the same prompt that I post here at 1 minute past midnight EST ever Friday. And we connect on Twitter with the hashtag #FiveMinuteFriday
No extreme editing; no worrying about perfect grammar, font, or punctuation.
Unscripted. Unedited. Real.”
This week is:
Big, swaying poplar trees and the echoes of mosquitoes buzzing through old screened windows. The never-ending drone of a creek flowing on the other side of the lane.
I grew up in the alfalfa field, sprawled on the warm sides of resting milk cows as hot summer sun baked us into a warm mess of bodies. These were my home. The gentle-eyed lumbering creatures that tolerated the awkwardness of a five year old urchin with fly away hair and an aversion to bath time. The snuffly velvet nose of a red pony with flaxen mane and tail who endured my first attempts at rodeo with the patience of a saint. A blue-ticked cattle dog, tan muzzle at my side, guarding me as I explored the dry, dusty hills and discovered the joy and freedom one can only find on a lonely Montana hillside while the sky, on fire below you, turns bright green trees to stark black shadows painted on a purple, orange, golden sky.
To this day, I am home on any farm.
Although I live in the city, I am only home under empty skies surrounded by this raw, uncivilized beauty, created by God, given to us.