Woolgathering by Bill Tope
She sat in the open field, far from the stock fences, the barn and the alfalfa fields. The rain had ended hours ago, but there remained a drop on each blade of grass. Relaxed, she sat in the Lotus position, not having yet attended a yoga class, she wondered how she knew the pose.
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Abbie was not religious, but neither was she a disbeliever in a higher being. She didn’t know, but began to wonder what her children were doing; were they still at school, or in the house awaiting supper? She thought of her husband and the accident. It wasn’t easy managing a 10,000-acre ranch by herself. There were ledgers to tend to, bills to pay, feed to order and paychecks to cut. She sighed. She had no business daydreaming when there was so much work to be done. Cocking her head to one side, there was something she felt she was forgetting.
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In the distance, she could hear a woman’s voice, calling out. She heard her own name, clear as a bell. Still, what was she forgetting? Abbie unfolded her legs and stood. She looked down at her feet and saw her saddle shoes and school books, and remembered that her ninth birthday would be in two days.
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Late for supper again, her mother would scold her for her tardiness. She skipped away toward the farmhouse, hoping they were having pancakes for supper because that was her all-time favorite.
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Bill Tope is a former construction laborer, caseworker, line cook at Hilton Hotels and a one-time nude model for university art classes. He lives in a humble hovel in the American Midwest with his mean little cat Baby.
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