Leroy slowly backed his truck into the driveway. His hand grasped the stick shift knob tightly. He looked over the yard at the white tent in the cow pasture. What a day for a wedding. One hundred percent chance of rain, and yet the white wooden chairs were being set up in little rows on top of fresh straw. The rivulets ran down the windshield distorting the blue farm house and the white wedding venue. They would need more than two bales of hay to keep the pathways dry.
Bethany and Joe were the newest couple to own this small farm nestled in the valley between the knolls that dotted the landscape. Leroy could remember all the other couples that started their life here. Well, at least six. Their dreams peeked through the fading paint on barns and out buildings. Some had pigs, some cows, and one brought horses to the farm. All of them dreamed in technicolor and all moved on to bigger, hopefully better things. He loved this country road and regretted not one season of his life with Betty here. He felt a sudden happy satisfaction to know his new neighbors and to be helping them so early on. Good neighbors were a comfort. Now that his kids were raised and gone he needed some new inspiration. Leroy still woke up every morning ready to breathe the fresh air. He hoped there would be children running in the pasture where now the heavy clouds moved out, replaced by lighter, thinner white puffs. The wedding might have a dry spell after all.
Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue; he brought the borrowed and he was the old, and he liked knowing that they offered something new.
This is a post that is part of a series entitled, "Pictures and Paragraphs". See an index of these posts here.