The sun had begun it's decent into the west several hours before and the shadows were growing longer, but Chester fought the urge to retreat to the safety of his home. The mosquitoes were hovering above him in a rapidly growing cloud of thirsty followers.
Curiosity had led them to the oak tree ridge at the top of the hill, and they spend the rest of the summer exploring the paths between the trees.
He cycled on to the top of the hill by the dusty gravel road. The climb was tiring and not too steep - but the trip had been made many times. The timing of this trip was a bit unnerving - Chester may not make it back before nightfall.
Darkness came quickly once the sun hit dusk. There were no warnings, just a 4 second delay from dusk till complete night darkness. It was one of the idiosyncrasies of living in a small town on the prairies.
Reaching the tree line and the point of near exhaustion, Chester paused to catch his breath. The hiding spot was only 30 yards into the brush, but as he always did he looked back at the sprawling fields that stretched out to the horizon. The green immature wheat swayed and swelled just like the ocean. Hypnotic.
Growing up on the west coast he yearned to get back to the humid coastline where he would sit on the same cliff every evening before the sun would slowly sink behind him. His grandmother had a house overlooking the ocean and every day he wanted to move back. Two years. Two long years.
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