Harvest Magic



It’s harvest around these parts. Farmers working day and night making hay. We are surrounded on all sides of town by wheat farms.



Harvest is a crazy busy time. It’s been hot as blazes around here, too. Not that it matters to those who have air-conditioned combines which is most of the farmers around these parts. Still, all that heat, all that work, it can make a person go cross-eyed.

It can make a person downright delusional, all that heat, all that work.



So it might be understandable, this seeing the most magical of creatures hanging out in the Wal-Mart parking lot in the morning so early most people hadn’t fried their bacon yet.

Maybe it’s the heat.

Maybe they aren’t really there.

So you get out of your car, leave it running, because this is really strange and you don’t know when you might need to hop back in it and speed away. Maybe to the hospital to have your blood pressure checked. If you do go, don’t tell the doctor what you saw. Or what you think you saw because he will not like this. He will write down notes and ask you questions that have nothing to do with harvest or magical creatures in the parking lot. He’ll want to know what medications you have been taking. He’ll want to know when you last had your eyes checked. Or when were you last hit on the head or struck by lightening.


No matter how much  you insist you have never been struck by lightening, never even picked up a snake in church. Although you did hold that one python in the Mekong because if a person comes across a python in the Mekong, embracing it seems the polite thing to do.

A mother and child walk past. They are the only people in sight besides you. She points to the creatures and says something in a language you recognize but don’t speak or understand because truth is you barely understand your own native tongue, how can you possibly learn another? Those two years of Latin Class were useless, although the Toga parties were kind of fun, they were far too infrequent to have made those dreary days  of Eus & Tus worth it.

Poor Caesar, though. It was hard not to feel bad for the man who got stabbed in the back by his BFF. I could never get over the outright meanness of that.

I hope I never have a BFF stab me in the back and leave me bleeding in some public square. I hope I never have an enemy do that, either, come to think of it. I rather dislike the thought of being stabbed at all.

But I do enjoy encountering the occasional magical animals early in the morn before the sun rises hot enough to turn gold wheat into green money.

What’s going on in your neck of the woods?





Karen Spears Zacharias

Author/Journalist/Educator. Gold Star Daughter.

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