Yesterday's Wind

The tanned farmer stood under the windmill in the hot, cloudless July afternoon. His soiled blue cotton shirt was buttoned to the collar. Before him, his nineteen-year-old son, ramrod straight in his immaculate marine dress blues, lamented, Dad, if only I could turn back just a few months, then I wouldnt be in this predicament. The father, his jaw set, gazing up at the windmill vanes, quiet in the...