The sun was bright in the eastern skies. Overhead the sky was a slate blue...only a light feather thin white here and there. It appeared like a painter's brush swept lightly over the blue...here and there...with white. All was calm. All was at peace. Not a leaf moved on the cottonwood trees. Not a blade of brome grass stirred there in the grader ditch. All you could hear was the gravel beneath my tennis shoes as I walked there alone on the old country road. A meadowlark sang to me from his perch there on the electrical line, then took wing and flew away over the green pasture grass and beyond. Clear in the distance, somewhere among the golden/brown wheat field, I could faintly make out the sound of the cricket, or maybe it was a frog....I really don't know. On I walked down that country road, past the wheat fields, the pasture, the cottonwoods, until I turned the corner and walked north. The sun made little yellow spots on the road as it shined through the hedge row ...