The Hitch-Hiker

The hitch-hiker I remember best was someone you might call a hobo. Lord knows what he’d been through to receive a gift that some folks get who’ve borne so much. He traveled light. He owned a little pack, a little dog; that’s all.

I drove for fifty miles before he turned his head to me and said,

“I think I’ll get out here. I like the way the grass looks, way up on that hill.

The way the light falls on it.”