Flash Fiction Posting

Hey Everyone,

I realize this isn't much of a poetry group, with the exception of Kris and myself. Well, I guess maybe Robert, but I digress. Here is a flash fiction piece I just wrote last night. It may not be the best, but I hope it is interesting and proliferates a thought or two.

Comments, questions, etc. are welcomed and wanted.

Enjoy.

The Beauty of God in Marriage
By Chris Lindgren

A young wife pulls up in a truck, as her husband leans patiently against the steel grain bin; both intent on storing away the beloved cargo. The young farmer leads his wife, as she backs up into position. He signals to stop. Her work boots meet the ground from the high cab, and as accustomed, she meets her husband behind the tractor. They work together, connecting the two long arms of the PTO shaft; one from the auger, the other from the tractor. The grain auger meets the tractor like a hand palming a fist, submitting to its power. Their arms meet slightly aslant. The young farmer climbs into the cab of the tractor, as the wife clears the shaft, with respect for its impending intensity. She returns to truck cab, and lifts the massive box with the strength of the hydraulics; then returns to the back and waits for her cue.

A black cloud strokes up through the upright pipe of the tractor, releasing a diesel sweet aroma. The tractor idles methodically, clunking and rumbling, as the husband pushes the PTO lever forward. The two arms of the PTO spin clumsily, at first, until the young husband opens up the throttle, and motions to his wife. She opens the trap door on the box. The rush of grain streams down into the grain hopper, as waves of dust unsettle, rising into the wind. Grain feeds up and into the auger, then out and into the bin.

The spin of the PTO reveals the beauty of machinery, and the balance brought upon the backs of hard work: a slight of dance rocks the auger—tires tapping to tire-toe—rooted in the harmonious spin. The beauty of the two arms depends upon the strength that the tractor provides. In synchronous fashion, the locked arms orbit closely around what cannot be seen forcefully. The real beauty lies on the outside, asking always to come in.

The rush of grain continues to fill the steel bin, as beauty encompasses the surrounding work to provide what is, and what will be needed.