Cities and towns flashed by and gradually gave way to wide, flat fields abutted by woods. It was four-thirty by the time Jack pulled into his brother’s driveway, a long gravel drive in need of re-graveling where the turbulent spring had washed potholes into it. The beige house at the top of it was surrounded by soy, rippling green fields of soy that surrounded the pond and came almost all the way up to the swing set on the right side of the house and were absent on the left side only on top of the septic mound. Swallows darted over the fields, and somewhere at the edges of the property, where marshy areas still stood unclaimed by agriculture, red-winged blackbirds were calling. Jack stepped out of the car, let the dog out, and inhaled deeply.
101,033 Literary Works • 534,427 Reviews