A Boy Named July

The air is heavy and translucent. The sun leaks to the ground in halfhearted droplets. A goat watches patiently from the tree, waits for the world to end. The house lists to the left, the front porch sagging like an old woman’s breasts. The child’s eyes are an astonishing blue against his dirt and sun-browned face. His hair is white standing up from his forehead. A field of wheat with the sky burning beneath it. He looks at the goat and the goat looks back, wondering at the blue.

“It won’t rain.” Says the boy, with his fists on his waist.

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~ by ifindthisamusing on June 25, 2008.

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