For The Love Of Sundays

It was a crisp 49°, my hands sucking the warmth from my favorite mug. Trix nestled deep into the cool grass, a long sigh of relief. The cool couldn’t have come soon enough for her. Corey, a farmer across the valley, idles his diesel down the frontage, on his way to check irrigation water flow. He lifts his coffee cup, nods his head slightly. A standard Idaho “Good Morning.”