Although by ten O’clock the late August sun was already high and warm in a spotless blue sky, the nights had been getting cooler; it wouldn’t be long until the harvest. I stopped the old tractor and killed the engine; silence washed into the vacuum left by the rusty motor’s noise. From the driver’s saddle I could look down across the shallow valley at our three large fields of corn. I found myself wondering again how the crop could wash and ripple across the fields even on perfectly still days like this. It can be mesmerizing and the ocean is only broken by the straight narrow strip of the road to St. Martenne. The highway may be a normal two lane road but at this point in the summer the corn crowds to its edges giving the impression of a narrow avenue.
Looking to far end of the road I saw the blue convertible appear. Since the middle of July it had passed by every morning at this time. It is why I too, was here again. The car sped between our fields, parting the golden sea. The fawning corn stands back while it passes only to sweep back to the road once the car has gone. The corn bustles excitedly and rustle-whispers ‘See her? Did you see her?’ And I did see her. She was magnificent. Her fair hair shielded from the wind under a patterned silk headscarf, her eyes hidden behind large lensed sunglasses which, in turn, accentuated majestic high cheekbones. Her lips always had a slight smile playing along them. And her arms were bare and lightly tanned like her face. She looked for the all the world like one of the dames à la mode from my mother’s 1960s Paris Match magazines; the ones that are stacked in low columns around her dark and musty room. But those ladies are faded, distant and dead or dying now, the woman in the convertible was not. She was a like a movie star but just as untouchable even though she was only a fifty meters away.
As she passed I noticed my arm had risen to wave but as always before she either did not see or probably thought it was just part of the swaying crops around her. Then she was gone. My arm fell back to my side while the excited corn returned to a gentle ripple. I exhaled, I seemed to have been holding my breath.
Leaning forward I pressed the large black button that restarted the old tractor. It rattled and shook into life, the noise and the oily smell of the exhaust brought my mind back to the day’s chores. Yes, soon we will harvest and she could not help but see me up here then however, I knew, in my heart, she too would be gone; back to the city and summer would be over.
<Enter stunningly witty and clever tagline here>
Bazza
