Where The Argument Is
Where The Argument Is It is harvest time in western Iowa. I can tell because the combines run into the night with their lights shining onto my windshield. Cyclic dust is spewed from the machines’ tails. An autumn breeze brings the low hanging dust from the valley. Sudden car lights confront me appearing from the manmade fog. Bumpers are not the only ones to threaten my path. Deer, forced from their lodgings, seek an exodus from the harvester’s hum. A desolate ditch ejects them onto the blacktop since it provides no cover. Caught in my lights, their hooves scrape desperately to find traction. “Deer!” I jolt everyone awake by stomping on the brakes. In a flash my opponent ducks recedingly nearer the ditch. Another near miss. “A buck! Hey, help me watch out for deer.” Other passengers agree with mounted vision. But, where do w...