The Speculator

My day began fairly well and I was just returning from a good run. I had jogged for fourteen miles and the sweat ring on my shirt was all white with salt loss. The spring heat had been unrelenting. May is supposed to bring rain; yet the grass fires were constant from the lightning storms, and Farmers and Ranchers were selling their stocks in order to save their livestock while some were resorting to auction sales in mass to save homes and families. As I ran alongside the ranch land, the poor critters seem to be begging me to save them with a low moo; there was no drooling, because, the little bit of fodder that was dropped for them was too dry. The creek bed was so dry, even the red dirt had turned into a white sandy trail. I thought of my yard which had turned brown and kept me on guard always; because, reckless drivers flick cigarette butts out their windows could easily start a grass fire. Our Fire Department had been busy lately, and there was nothing I could do to help but adhere to the strict rules. I kept on going till I rounded the street-corner to my house and saw my wife standing at the door waving me on.