For Grandpa

A late afternoon on the Oregon trail as the sun grew bigger and brighter.

I was tired but my mind was restless.

The wagon wheels turned slower and slower every turn until . . . they stopped.

Horses resting under the sun. Dad sweating under his hat.

Silent. Still. Dirty. Dusty.

I pull myself away from Mom.

Slowly I trudge into the sun with a broom in hand.

I begin to sweep the desert away. Dust is in the air.

Out of the sun, a man appears.

'What are you doing, Son?' 'I'm sweepin up the desert!'
'Well good luck and have fun.'

He pulls out a notebook and a really dull pencil, maybe pen.

His book reads:

'Faced with the challenge of sweeping up the desert, Morgan P------- registers serious concern.'