To Dear Sarah,
As I write to you, I witness what you can not see. If you were here, the sight of these plains would take you away. One glimpse from the hill top as I verged upwards, my delight grew inside me. Passing golden plains of wheat, as farmers turn the soil in the dry and barren heat.
My hand falls from the box cart and touch the wheat as it breaks in my hand. And with the stalk of it, I chew in my mouth as I tilt my woven straw hat and bask in the mid day sun. I am the only one... the lonely one. And my only friend is the cling-clank of the cartridges as we turn in uniform. My clothes you handed me before I left, are tethered and ruined. And my sweat is no more than dirt and muck caught in my skin.
In due time the town will appear as a speck on the horizon, and I'll know that I'm almost there. Don't worry about me, dear Sarah. City men are much more suitable for you. Us folk people, we travel. And we move on. And in some way or another, this is goodbye.
Take care and forever be strong, my love.