Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction

As It Has Been, As It Always Will Be

The sun rises, as it always has, as it always will, over rolling blue-green hills behind the fenced pasturelands. Its first rays reach out and touch the brisk morning air, removing its chill. Those same rays touch each blade of grass, evaporating the glistening drops of moisture. A mist stands over the fields; eventually it will dissipate, but will return again to the ground again, as it always has, as it always will.

The grass of the fields grows tall and strong, yet pliant, bending with every wind and breeze that flows across the farmer's land. The winds, like the sun's rays, and like the dewy mist, will return again and again, as they always have, as they always will.

The farmer stands in silence and looks out across the misty fields. He studies the clouds forming to the south and sighs. So many times before he has stood here in this spot, looking at so many other clouds, which always look different, yet always carry the same message.

A little boy who holds him by the hand hears his sigh, and sees his stern expression. He looks now, as the farmer does, to the horizon. He cannot yet read the signs in the sky, but he has already learned to read the signs in his father's face. So he says: "Going to storm later on today." It's the kind of thing father would say, and he waits to see how father will respond.

The farmer sighs again and says, "Yes."

"Can I help with the milk deliveries?" the boy asks.

The farmer smiles playfully and lifts the boy onto his shoulders. They begin the trek back to the barn, with the little boy playfully rubbing the farmer's bald head. "Of course," father says. "Always can use another pair of hands on the milk route."

The farmer's smile lasts for just a moment, then vanishes behind a grim and tired expression. There is a weariness to the unending cycle of sunrise and sunset, storm and clear, planting and harvesting, milking and delivering. All of these things he has experienced since he was a child himself, and he feels the sameness of it from his skin right down to his bones.

He wonders when this little boy will begin to feel that same life weariness, as he experiences it, as his father and his grandfather experienced it. As it always has been, as it always will be.

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