Life

The old man was delivering seedlings to a nursery in a beat-up truck — its platform fenced in by scrap-wood panels.

It was the start of a new day: The man wore a yellow shirt — loud as unmitigated sunshine.

A shovel jutted up from the center of his flatbed— its handle to the sky, as if the spade were staked into deep earth.

Published by Cassandra

Writer and visual artist. Avid reader, cuddle bunny. Sweetie, I'd love to.

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