They stretched as far as he could see, then well past that. They
surrounded his house like an army frozen in time, the older of them
rotting and falling to pieces on the ground around the stakes which held
them. The age of each followed no pattern. One built in 1972 might well
stand next to one built two weeks ago. Some had, at one time, sported
jack-o-lantern heads; the flame in their faces burning only once - the
night of their birth. Some were topped with plain pumpkins, giving the
impression of an expressionless face, and a question withheld. Over the
years these had returned to the earth, their seeds dropping and coming
back as small green buds. As a result, large portions of the farm were
wild pumpkin patches, the orange fruit growing large in between figures
that seemed to pay them no mind.
9 comments:
Great story, Bean! Full of imagery. I can see it now.....
Wonderful.
Want. More.
Very Nicely Written Bean, I'd buy the book. :)
i Can feel it, 1972 & the present.
bean, you've created the Perfect tomb for these straw pretties to live & die in...Lovely!!! . :)
Thanks, everyone.
:)
Stop teasing with all these excerpts and bring on the whole story! :) I'm intrigued enough Ms. Bean!
Agreed with Mark. I would like to read the whole thing. Send me a copy. :D
I commented on Bean's blog you to find the greatest places to take photos.
I miss Halloween. Not ready for the Christmas madness. I never am. This is a very nice read Bean.
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