"Ned Nickerson, part 1" - #littlebitstories
Ned Nickerson leaned back against the fence, watching his cows grazing on the warm grass. He pulled his hat lower and closed his eyes. There was a smooth breeze that wrapped itself around everything. Springtime here was one of the few times all his fields were emerald green, most of the year he had fields of gold. Ned did not consider himself a poet, but if he was, he'd write probably a poem about this moment.
He pushed himself off the fence and started to his white truck.