In Springdale Town
“At least he had food. The ears were mature and sweet; he stripped off the husks and ate as he went. But walking was a struggle. He found it difficult to maintain a straight path in any direction. What crazy hand had seeded these fields? No even rows here, everything random, as though planted by chance. And so early in the season–he had thought that this year’s crop wouldn’t be ready until much later, July or August.He tried to keep the sun ahead. As a child, he had often tramped along a ditch n...ear his house, pushing his way through tall sunflowers, slashing at them with a hunting knife. But he had known the ditch was near, a few feet to his left, and across it, the streets leading home.At last, when the sun reached the top of a line of distant trees, he found a road. Roads like this crisscrossed the area, connecting farm, field, and town. He set off to his right, and after a hundred yards or so, a house appeared behind a tumbled stone wall. He decided to stop there and ask directions.MoreLess
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