The promise made to the friend concerned when the depression could be lifted and the relationship resumed. The conditions were out of everyone’s’ hands. The moroseness allegedly surfaced when the rains drowned the old man’s hopes. His hopes floated on the notion that work and tasks brought satisfaction and happiness, but that was not all. Most of all the buildings, barns and beasts existed so approval could be had. With approval came fleeting happiness. Fleeting happiness brought relationship.
The rains continued to wash the dirty banks and erode the synthesized sanity. Normally this weather didn’t stay that long but she remained collapsed on this segment of country as if to prove a point or bring the fragile farmer to his senses and to admit that his outer show differed from his inner truth. That until he admitted to his lie, she would continue her onslaught, indifferent to his pain and fading hope.
Whiskey and women would not be the answer so the old wanna be farmer decided to give a kind of faux honesty a try. He would look the part of goatherd with shepherd crook, and blue chambray button down, and a Quaker’s broad brimmed straw hat. High muck boots and whiskers on the chin added to the appearance, but that was all it was. The answer was not there for him to find. He might as well abandon his behavior and get back to doing something. Even something that could not possibly gain him approval.
Even then, he still found it difficult to have a genuine friend.