Thanks to dear Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers and to Bill Reynolds for the photo.
Who Am I ?
Saul, slammed his foot down on the brakes, the ancient van screeched to a halt.
His mind a whirligig, he grasped the steering wheel for support.
‘Me and the rust-bucket toil each day and nothing changes, what’s it all for ? ‘
Saul’s breaths came more regularly now, the worst of his panic was over. In the silence after the screech of brakes, Saul became aware of the birds singing.
‘The wind ruffles the grass, the trees bend, the beets burgeon’ Saul thought, ‘where am I in all of this ?’