On the Farm:Unfinished

Creak…Creak….Creak went the old rotted floor boards of the aged farm house. The worn boards were soft but cold on my once warm feet. I teetered back and forth wiping the sleep residue from my eyes revealing the freshly gathered eggs sizzling from the hot skillet. I saw the outline of my grandmothers plump body her shoulders were slightly slumped one hand holding to the stove and the other to a black skillet. …

…ran through the yards. After breakfast there were always small chores that had to be done. The chores were never really chores though they were more like playtime. Although the chores seemed more than they were worth sometimes. My brother, cousin, and I all had the duties of making every step our granny and poppy made. Usually we fed the small white-feathered chickens as they ran around frantically and slopped our fat, pink, wrinkled, hogs.