Monday

She awoke in the cold when the sky was the color of a nickel.

Her head squeezed, like a hammer grip, as she anticipated a day filled with bits of anxiety...colorless pleasures, a stone cold in her throat.  She sniffed, a twinge of an illness was on the verge of making an arrival and she got up out of bed.

Hurriedly putting on jeans and boots, she threw on a sweater, bra-less and took to the closet to get her jacket and gloves.  She thought about a hat, grabbed one from the top shelf and stuffed it in the jacket pocket.

The door complained when opened in the cold air and she walked onto the porch, the footsteps wooden and dull.  The air was inhaled and cool, the morning slightly foggy and absorbing the noises...she pulled on her gloves and walked to the tractor barn.

Some of the puddles were iced over in a thin sheer and easily cracked when stepped on.  The mud had frozen and was jagged and and uneven, making the walk staggering.  She pulled off the chain roped around the door handles and pulled the barn door open, a creaking yawn that opened to a darkened garage.  The tractor, her father's...and her grandfather's was parked in the middle of the room...an old John Deere with fading greens and yellows.  It still ran (nothing runs like a Deere) and she touched one of the large tires...black and flaking a little.  She couldn't afford new ones.

She climbed up into the seat, the springs giving in and reached down to turn the key.  The lights came on and the engine coughed then died.  She glanced at the gauges and saw mostly normal signs.  Gas was fine.  She tried again and the engine clanged to life, a bit of blue smoke coming from the exhaust and the engine wound up and settled in...she engaged the drive and pulled out of the barn.

The wind was starting to pick up and it lit into her ears...her head still a vise, her face cold.  She didn't put on the hat yet and quietly bit at herself for not at least fixing coffee.  But she hadn't eaten anything either and didn't want the hot caffeine on any empty stomach, burning itself while she worked.  So she pulled the jacket collar up against her and kept driving to the side of the field where the brush-cutter attachment waited.

She drove over, bouncing on the dirt and furrows and idled up next to the cutter...it had bits of frost on it from the overnight, and rust was the primary color.  But the blades were relatively new and for that she was thankful.  She backed up the tractor so it was almost touching the cutter's male portion and stopped...she got off, lifted the cutter into the tractor slot and slid home the cotter pin.  She gave it a tug to make sure it was seated...felt the secure assurance and climbed back up onto the tractor.

She made a wide turn and stood at the edge of the field...it was a glimpse into her past...she had played here for years growing up...didn't really work it as much as enjoyed it, her father coming home smelling of hay and a day in the sun.  Why she returned to make it hospitable she didn't know.  Her head hurt and she was cold...but she loved this view...loved working the rows, plowing and cutting...restoring.  Restoring the views back to the ones she remembered.  The sun was an orange spotlight through the trees, the fog lifting...her breath was exhaled in a gray plume and despite the hunger making noise in her stomach all she could hear was the idling of the tractor.  She pushed the side button triggering the turning of the cutter blades and they added more noise to the morning.

She pulled forward, destroying the blades of grass and thicket that threatened to overtake her father's farm.

She wore just the tiniest hints of a smile.