I Think I've Already Been To Heaven

The dust on an old farm road is as fine as flour. The same rich soil that nurtures the crops comprises this path. It's baked by the sun until it cracks and then pulverized by the wheels of countless tractors and wagons making trips to and from the fields. It's so fine it explodes in plumes when the first drops of a summer shower strike it.

It's not raining today. A few clouds move across the bright summer sky. Their shadows provide a moment of cool relief as they pass by. I could walk on this path without disturbing the dust too much but it's much more fun to shuffle my feet and maintain a small cloud around my shoes. Twelve year olds don't mind a little dirt. In fact, they prefer it.

I'm too far from the pasture and pond to hear any meadowlarks or red winged blackbirds. The only bird I see is a killdeer. She's been hopping along the road a few yards in front of me, occasionally dragging a wing in the dust, feigning injury. I'm not hunting her but she doesn't know that. As far as she knows, everything is going according to plan - I've been duped into thinking she's vulnerable. Eventually, when I've walked far enough from her hidden nest, she flies off.

Small brown grasshoppers flit about, seemingly exchanging places with each other. Each jump produces a buzz and the constant crackling makes the air seem almost electrified. As I walk I begin to pick up the distant rumble of a tractor and dogs barking.

When I come to the place where the road turns, I stop and look ahead, across a field of soybeans. Beyond the beans lies a field of alfalfa and I can see Dad on the tractor, pulling the mower. Our dogs bound around the mower blade, excitedly barking, ready to give chase to any poor creature suddenly exposed. The younger dog, Doc, spots me and comes galloping across the field. I drop to my knees so I can wrap an arm around his neck and scratch his chest. But this is just a quick hello and he breaks free, anxious to get back to the party.

As Doc runs back to the tractor I wonder if Dad has noticed me. Probably not as he is focused on the mower, trying to cut alfalfa and not dogs. I stand and watch a bit longer, waiting until he gets to the end of the field. If he's going to look up, it'll be while he's turning for the next pass. Whether or not I see him look, I'll give a half-wave, just enough to say "Hi" but not so much that it might be misinterpreted as "Come quick, emergency!" Then, I'll turn and start back.

Sometimes I wonder - If I lead a good life, if I show kindness to others. I wonder if when I die I'll wake up, twelve years old, walking on that road again.