The Horizon, Hens, and a Fool

The horizon taunted me, far enough to be uncertain, close enough to be dangerous. Back and forth my eyes swept looking for anything. Birds would rustle if they came through the trees. Dust would pillow into the evening sky if they came by road. Another hour, and I wouldn’t be able to see either.

Something akin to the squawking of hens erupted behind me. I knew darn well we hadn’t brought any livestock, fowl or otherwise. What with the sudden arrival of the Jebsen clan, all liquored up and whatnot, we hadn’t been afforded much time to bring anything. My practical mind raced through all the things I would have liked to bring instead.

That part of my brain prone to dreaming went through all the people I would have rather brought with me than the three idiot greenhorns making camp so noisily.

Resigned but not quite hopeless, I let my eyes roll and turned back through the underbrush towards camp. Something smelled good, like home almost. For a brief moment I edged toward hopeful, fool that I was.

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