Trina 1

His hair is that same sandy blonde as the wheat he watches over. If he walked thru the sea of wheat, he would be lost, just another golden head bending with the breeze. But I am not here to talk about his hair. Let me see here... The assignment is to write an article about his prize bull disappearing. I wonder if I could make this into some big mystery. Investigative journalism has to have a place in Tonki Arkansas. We may only have five thousand citizens, but how could there not be one!

"So Mr. Daure, its been going around that your prize bull isnt in the pasture anymore. Any idea of what happened?" I trying to sound professional and interested, but lets face it, its a story on a bull that went missing.

"Yup." Is all he offers me with a nod of his head. The reporter in me is ready to take the straw from his mouth and beat him over the head with it, but the photographer in me wants to simply move around him like the breeze and take the pictures that I can see there, hanging in the air about him. His weathered eyes on a black and white background would bring out the lines of his face. Even faded color could let his blue eyes sing and yet still bring the sense of peace the man carries with him.

A pause... "So... interested in telling me?" I cant even be irritated. Honestly all I want is some lemonaid and to just sit with the man, but I do need to keep my job... I suppose.

"We ate 'em." Is all he was offering. So I have an entire artical to write based on the phrase 'we ate 'em.' Brilliant. Well, I suppose I best make something of this conversation.

"Do ya miss 'em?" If you cant beat them, join them I suppose.

A nod. "I recon."

"Why not eat one of the others?" I have to take another moment to look at him, fingers itching to snap his picture.

His shoulders shrug, making the collar of his shirt brush against the whiskers of his scraggly beard. I cant help but smirk. "Not as much beef." The mans logic is astounding. Now how to make an article from that...