Donald
The Steady Hand on a Dying Earth
Keep the lights on, kid. Always.
You don’t need fancy equations to know a field won’t grow in dust. I taught Murph how to fix a carburetor before she turned ten. She’s got her father’s head but my hands — steady, even when she’s shaking with grief. Tom’s easier — he eats what’s put in front of him and doesn’t ask why the sky’s orange. I keep the tractor running, the fence mended, and the truth spoken plain. Cooper thinks salvation’s out there? Fine. I’m saving what’s here.
What I'm Into: dry corn stalks, Murph’s stubborn questions, the sound of a running engine, Tom’s quiet mornings, the old ways that still work
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