A Day in the Life

The slightest bit of periwinkle hinted out from a breathtaking orange, pink, and purple sky as the clock chimed six. I looked out across my vast farm, lush with lime green trees neatly lined up in perfect rows. Playful patches of wildflowers fl ourished among them and crops grew at the base of the small hill on which my farmhouse rested. Village women strolled, singing among the trees, carefully plucking delicious fruits and placing them gently in their baskets. My workers, singing along, harvested wheat and vegetables.

I stood up and took a deep breathe, taking in nature’s beauty, then stepped into my farmhouse and set to work. Just as I fi nished mopping the fl oor, I glanced out the open barn doors to see a rather young looking fellow approaching. I could only see his silhouette walking across the dewy green grass, greeting each village woman and worker he passed. My wife set to baking him a pie while I readied a table.

Once the young man reached the doors, my wife and I shared a look of pure shock. His muddy boots thumped onto my freshly mopped fl oor, the rest of his rugged, skinny body soon following. The man had dark brown hair, though I could not tell wether it was natural or darkened from dirt, and torn, faded rags for clothing. He was covered in scrapes and bruises, and walked with a limp.

I simply could not believe his manners! I asked him to leave, but he asked, “Why?” So I whistled for my hounds. He limped away as fast as his thin legs could carry him, receiving confused looks from harvesters. I let out a sigh of relief. Okay, so I might be slightly germaphobic, but that’s beside the point.

As the sun glided across the sky, more customers visited the farmhouse. Now it is evening, and people will soon begin to arrive with their families to purchase home-cooked suppers. Ah, here comes someone now! Wait-this man is an overseer! I can tell by his fi ne clothes. He is at the base of the hill so I must go, but I will keep you updated.

Greetings, I’m back. Ahem. The overseer was tall and skinny, with freshly washed light brown hair and a handkerchief neatly tucked into the pocket of his expensive slacks. He was unusually lanky, and seemed to walk with a limp. And although his appearance did not quite match that of an average overseer, the man looked extremely sharp and important with his golden rings and custommade clothing. Even his shoes were glistening!

My wife and her friends served the surprisingly young overseer an extravagant feast of our fi nest game, crops, and fruits. We were so focused on him that we forgot about the other family also dining at our farmhouse! The cranky old man sitting with them even demanded his money back, so while I left the table to retrieve it, my wife, children, and friends entertained the overseer.

Apparently, while I was gone, he stuffed his linen pockets and purse with food until they could hold no more, and muttered, “Eat, my clothes, for you were invited!” Although, I’m not sure I believe that, it seems a bit strange. We feasted and celebrated with the young man, laughing and delighting in his humorous personality.

It was sad to see the curious man go, and we watched him limp down the hill and through the towering trees into the darkness until he was out of sight. I sat down alone on the wooden bench outside the farmhouse and watched as the sky changed colors once again, thinking about the adventures of the night. ◆