When I reach the end of one row, I continue straight on away from the barn and the farm and the road. I walk until I come to a pile of hay bales and plop myself down. The sun is bright and the air is sharp. In the distance I hear the lowing of cows. It's so peaceful here.

"Merry Christmas, " I whisper to myself. "Merry Christmas, Nate.

Auteur: Lisa Ann Sandell