Indigo selected seeds carefully from a large red paint chipped barrel in the farmer’s pantry. A few dropped from his fingers. He bent down to retrieve them. With his the tip of his nose a short distance to the earthen floor, he noticed that a variety of little seedlings had already sprung out of the ground where they fell. As it didn’t seem to matter, he left them all free to germinate. He mused that they might even enjoy a short but prosperous life before inevitably, Farmer Eldrich’s boots trampled them.
Dull and brutal were the words Indigo would use to describe his first few weeks of contracted labor where the sheep outnumbered the men and the jokes about sheep outnumbered decent jokes. At fourteen years old, he had been sent to the countryside, because it was the regional custom and because sore muscles and dirty hands would help him appreciate what he had back home. At least, that’s what his mother said.
Four days each moon cycle free for rest, relaxation, and prayer.
The words hastily scrawled on his contract a month ago, by a professional contract writer, now inspired deep gratitude in Indigo, who could hardly move for stiffness. Luckily, the old farmer was as honest and generous as he was abrasive and crude. When the day arrived for Indigo’s respite, Eldrich led the young man out to the stable, handled him a sturdy but desperately unstylish jacket and set a pack containing a plain meal from Mrs. Eldrich over top of what Indigo knew was his best horse. Then, he patted her and said, “Yep.” The farmer tromped away, because that statement well, explained everything.
Still, time away from the farm ended all too quickly, and the reality of Indigo's miserable situation settled heavily on him. There was no denying the obvious. And that made Indigo blue.
Opening: Carrie E. Bailey.....Continuation: Sean