The sun has gone down enough in the afternoon that the haystacks begin to cast shadows, which stretch sharp round edges toward town. A thin layer of lacy clouds hangs near the horizon, and everything is weekend quiet.
They lay in the shade, on armfuls of hay pulled from the stacks. It’s a brother moment, a hands behind the head, stare at the sky, and talk moment. Gene goes first. He rises onto his elbows, nods toward a nearby stand of trees, toward one tree.
- You know that tree over there?
- The one where the old barn used to be?
- Yeah, that one. It reminds me of when we were little. I was sure that the tree, and the foundation of the barn, were magic - like they had some sort of power.
- What power?
- I dunno. Power. I could go there and feel it. An energy or something.
- Were you scared?
- Never. And I could go there again and again without getting bored.
- Do you feel it still?
- No. I’ve grown up.
(pause)
Now Paul, laying down:
- Were Mom and Dad strict when you were young, when I was a baby? Do you remember back that far?
- They weren’t strict. With me, or with you.
- Do you love them?
- I do.
- Me, too.
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