art by Jeffrey Redmond
by John Philip Johnson
Standing in the orchard for the longest time. Watching the rockets take off, one every seven minutes. He lifts his head upwards as each one climbs in the sky, following it with his eyes until it vanishes. Then his head drops and he keeps his eyes trained on the horizon until the next eruption of rumbling and blue light.
"I could have been a space pilot," he says.
"Yes, dear, I know," I say, and pat his long arms.
"But they changed my engineering at the last moment," he says.