On a farm and there’s a goose beside her. She’s twisting her apron because she doesn’t want anything to happen to the goose. It’s mid-morning. The sun is up. The chicken is coming out of where it lives and the girl is waiting.
That’s not a chicken! That’s a goose! I know a chicken from a goose. I grew up on a farm in Montana. Her name is Sherry. She’s twisting her apron. She went to the barn looking for eggs. Maybe she has some eggs in her apron. Well, I don’t think so! It’s just a chicken. It has no name. Its name is chicken. Even if it’s a friend, we still just call it chicken. Then let’s call it Chicken Little. No, it’s not a small chicken. That chicken is one of many. In a farm you don’t just have one chicken. It’s probably thinking about when it’s going to be killed.
The girl’s leggings are just like mine! She may have been calling the chicken. The chicken is about to come out of the barn. I can hear “chick-chick-chick” and “cluck-cluck” along with the crunching of leaves, a tractor, a pig, and a cow in the background. She scatters grain and the chickens follow. I smell fresh air and manure. I still hear the tractor or a combine in the background. If I touched the girl’s legs I would feel my leggings.
She might grow up to become a teacher or a farmer’s wife. That’s the next step after becoming a teacher. She has a father, mother, and a sister. The family is just waking up. The sun is up, and it’s bright. It’s more than the beginning of the day. Someone is already there taking her picture.
The chicken is going to get it! Or maybe they are going to chase it and put it back in the cage.
Created by Seaport Landing Community Storytellers (female and male). 30 June, 2016