First Frost

My toes curl into the solid dirt, pressing prints into a ground already obscured by a layer of frost. The chilled wind curls through my hair, up my skirt, and finally scatters through the swaying wheat. Everything steps into beat, all following my gentle lead.

My partner in this slow waltz hangs loosely against my arms, hay scratching, digging into my skin. His ever-present smile mocks me as every step, every bounce, every turn cuts me deeper, but his mockery is a familiar comfort.

Why do you dance with me?

You’re the only one who knows the steps.

I cannot dance with you, my only purpose is to scare away the birds.

You’re the only one who will dance with me.

Aren’t you lonely?

Yes

So, why do you come back?

What choice do I have?

His head lulls onto my neck, and I close my eyes, continuing to twirl to the sounds of the leaves, the sounds of the mice, the sounds of the crows, the sounds of the wheat.

Who will you dance with when fall is over?

I won’t dance when fall is over.

What about the boys in town, won’t they dance with you?

I don’t want to dance with the boys in town.

Why not?

They don’t know the steps.

A deep pink started on the horizon, swirling upwards through the clouds until orange and yellows began to shine through the wheat.

I suppose this is goodbye for the night.

I suppose.

Will you be back tomorrow?

If there is no frost.

And if there is frost?

I will see you again next August then.

I placed my partner back on his stand, giving him a final curtsy before carefully navigating back through the tall rows of wheat. Gently opening the screen door to my father’s ranch house, I crept up the stairs; careful to avoid loose wooden panels. And with a runny, glowing nose I slipped under the cotton sheets, just in time to hear my father creak passed my bedroom door, and down to the kitchen to make his coffee with two sugar cubes and only a splash of cream.