I'm thinking moonshine and cicadas and the scent of mimosa on the evening breeze, and the sound of whip-poor-wills calling across the cooling plains. |
He worked, for cash, only six weeks of the year, and spent the rest of his time reading, writing, hoeing beans, picking huckleberries, and listening to bullfrogs trumping, hawks screaming, and whip-poor-wills singing vespers. |