“Look Papa!” the boy’s voice rose in excitement.
“I see,” the man replied. His deep voice resonated in the small space.
“You didn’t even move your head,” the young eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“I did not need to.”
The child exhaled and shook his head and the movement reminded the man of a yearling. Impatiently straining at the edge of youth, eager to race headlong into life.
The man eased the pressure on the pedal and moved his foot to the other, stopping the car.
“I am looking now,” he smiled. “Thank you, Son.”
The boy’s eyebrows rose but he asked nothing. They watched the buffalo together, the sun and field and beasts a golden-brown.
“Is this their farm?” the boy finally asked.
“It is their home,” the man replied. “The farm came to live on it.”
The boy nodded, his ancestors evident in his soulful eyes. “They are like us.”
For What Pegman Saw
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