The Sower (Pt IV)

The couple walked towards him and something suspicious itched in his bones. The stranger sported a rugged beard and was dressed in an egg white tee, blue jeans, and black boots. He took off his cowboy hat and bowed.

“This is my husband,” his wife spoke impatiently.

“Your wife here tells me you’ve experienced a terrible famine.” He made the statement in a very smug and authoritative tone.

“What business do you have here, friend,” the sower asked. He was not fond of the stranger but thought he owed him a bit of hospitality.

“I’m here to purchase land.”

“Land?” The sower choked on this word and glared at his wife. “But this is our home.”

“Oh no. Not this piece of cow manure,” the visitor chuckled. “Your wife says you have very fertile land out west. I’ve seen the place and I’d like to buy it.”

The sower groaned within himself. His wife sold the land he had toiled, sweat and watered in his tears. He watched the long, black locks of her hair morph into hideous snakes. She became a creature he detested.

Saying nothing else, the sower walked from the place he once called home. He did not stop to kiss the forehead of his children nor wipe the tears from their cheek. He did not embrace the poisonous one he called his wife. He watched the vines choke the white house and the home sink into the earth to be seen no more.

Will he return? His daughter asked.
Soon my child. Very soon…

The Sower (Pt III)

Then, her eyes ran over the dirty faces of her children. Using the skirt of her wine colored dress, she wiped away their filth. “Clean yourselves up. We have a guest,” she commanded and the little ones bolted to the vine house.

“My children needn’t clean for me,” the sower chimed in. He was most flattered by his wife's gesture. He leaned in, to press a kiss against her hot forehead, but she dodged him.

“It isn’t for you,” she answered icily. The sower paused at her words. Who could this guest be? His wife beheld his cart of vegetables in astonishment.

“Ah, see! Didn’t I tell you my labor would pay off,” the sower laughed. She didn’t answer, quietly settling her gaze into the distance. Now an anxiousness had pressed against his chest. What awaited them, he did not know. The wind also hinted of the unknown storm.

His wife hastened inside to prepare for the new visitor. She ran her fingers through her matted hair and softened it with shampoo. Her hands groped her new, yellow dress. She sacrificed everything she owned. Yet, her world was growing divine. Her mind fancied herself in a golden gown with a satin train. She witnessed the rouge in her cheeks blossoming like sweet raspberries. And how glorious were her dark, long tresses dropping to the earth. Her dreams were vivid now and she tasted them on the tip of her tongue.

The great roar of a car engine interrupted her thoughts. She ran out to meet the metal contraption. The sower watched in horror as the truck sputtered in the direction of his wife. It stopped abruptly and a stranger climbed out, donning a cowboy hat. His wife gave a hearty hello and embraced him while the sower settled back and chewed his thoughts.

The Sower (Pt II)

Now the sower returns with his abundant wealth. He parades joyously in a cart drawn by a donkey. The gray coat of his companion whispers the rugged life they have shared. However, today he pulls the cart with a jovial stride. He also senses their fortune.

The sower envisions the faces of his children. He has been away so long from them. He imagines them growing tall like stalks beside their tiny, white house. He pictures the weariness in his wife’s eyes melting away, and her appearing before him vivaciously. Her embrace tugging against his rough body and the liveliness in her dark eyes rising like a night raven in flight.

The trees skip methodically and bow before him in the wind. He is privy to the royal graces bestowed upon kings. Hastily, he whipped the donkey and rode the cart speedily to spread his good news.

When he returned, he did not recognize his home. The house had been devoured by large vines and thickets. Thick, green blades of grass were overrun by an army of dandelions. Mother nature claimed his territory. How long had he been gone? Nearby, the river ran dry; the unquenchable thirst of the sun had drunk up the fresh spring.

Fearfully, he called his wife’s name but she did not answer. He found his daughter swinging from a tree like a yo-yo, and his son steadily perched below like a parachute.

“Where is your mother,” the sower asked but neither child took its gaze from what they were doing. Then, his daughter lifted her finger and the sower traced the little compass to a speck in the horizon. The speck grew and took the shape of a woman. She cradled two jugs of water, which swayed with her hips.

The sower was astonished to find his wife dry like the desert. Her skin was cracked at the foundation like one of those angelic, marble statues antiquated from time. He ran to meet her and took the jugs from her weary fingers. She glared at him like a ravenous animal beholding its prey.

A Story For You: The Sower (Pt. I)

I would like to begin something new in this post. Poetry has always fascinated me, but I have always shared a love for prose and short fiction. This piece is entitled The Sower and I will break it up in a few posts for you. I hope you enjoy it and I will have shorter posts sprinkled in for the upcoming week.

“Sow to yourselves in righteousness, reap in mercy; break up your fallow ground: for it is time to seek the Lord till he come and rain righteousness upon you.” (Hosea 10: 12)

The sower inherits calloused hands. Weary, he toils in the sun until twilight. He runs his fingers through the richness of the soil. His efforts go unnoticed on the still mountainside. The seed he plants become his children, and he waters them with prayer. He watches over them with hawkish eyes.

Time lapses as he waits for the harvest. He anticipates hope springing from the earth. But he questions his methods in a quiet contemplation and brews his prospects on black nights with eyes wide open. He longs for the maturation of his seed like a bird nudging his young ones in flight. Time becomes unbearable and his impatient roots begin to grow. But he senses he cannot abandon what God has given him.

Then one morning, while he lay asleep, little leaves sprouted from the brown earth. At dawn, they rose like sleepy children from their beds and his plants were innumerable and plenteous. The stalks were thick and green and water flowed through their roots like veins. Life sprung from the earth and scattered for miles in either direction. He returns to his homeland carrying his baskets with him.