Victory Lane.

July 8th, 2023.

The small boy stopped in chunks some dirt clogs at the fence post.

Ten throws, six hits.

Better than yesterday.

Dave turned homeward again, pack over his shoulder.

Coming around a corner, he saw the house down at the end of the dirt lane

about a half a mile away.

The road sloped gradually down for about two-thirds of that distance and then rose again to the

house.

On either side of the lane were meadows and pastures randomly placed.

Most contained cattle grazing off away from the road over by the

tree line. Without thinking about it, he began to trot. Mom would have milk and

something out of the oven and they would talk. He didn't put it to himself like that,

but he did enjoy coming in the back

screen door and slamming it. Mom always knew who it was, but she would always say, who's that?

This late September hadn't seen rain for weeks. Little puffs of dust exploded where his feet hit. He was running with his head down. and have to stop for a minute and throw rocks at it. He slowed down and started looking around for rocks trying to remember yesterday's record, but was quickly distracted by a large stick instead.

Dave picked it up and hefted it in his hands, pleased with his new broadsword. He went on at a walk, every

shoe steps mowing down the tall grass growing the ditch at the right side of the road. A blue jay flew by, landed on a fence post about 20 feet ahead

and decided to leave again as Dave approached, whacking as he came.

This morning his mother had said it was a glorious day. Mom always talked like that.

Dave thought it was nice too. He'd gotten a 92 on his math test. All that drilling last night worked. She'd be really happy about that. Before dad went to fight in Korea, he had said that Dave was supposed to work hard at his studies. Maybe mom could put something in a letter about it. A cloud went in front of the sun.

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