Flash

Tonight I felt compelled to do a bit of flash writing. Lately, I have been thinking about the Book of Matthew, specifically Matthew 3:11-12 when it speaks of the wheat and the chaff. I thought of how the threshing floor may have looked like and wrote something below. I'm sure what I've written is not accurate, but hopefully it's interesting enough. I'm not entirely sure what my point was in writing it other than I felt a strong urge to write. 

THE THRESHING FLOOR

Slender stalks of wheat tan under the Indian sun as the soft air whistles between them. Clouds of spikelets fly overhead – frozen in mid-air and gently blanketing the earth as they descend.

Tonight the farmer comes to harvest his work. He swings his mighty sickle, holding it by his waist as he grabs for handfuls of his precious stalks. Sweat drips from his brows. Palms redden and ache. Each stalk was carefully sown. Each stalk was delicately made. Every bundle stored inside his barn.

But as the breeze blew, yellow spikelets sprinkled the ground. Some scattered between the leftover stalks; others were carried away with the wind, but none were of any worth.

With several logs under his arms, the farmer begins to stack the wood atop the chaff. He places a burning coal underneath and watches the smoke wrap around the logs like a snake choking its prey. As dusk descends, swelling flames of red and orange wave atop the chaff crackling and spitting until all was consumed.