His powerful legs work in time, quickly and powerfully charging up the hill. Everyone is depending on him to win, to fight, to try. Others may come, but right now he alone makes his way to the top of the hill to defend, to protect, to make a stand. Raising his front legs, he thrashes at the air, roars into the sky, and dares to be challenged.
The boy chuckles at the tiny ant dancing on the small mound of dirt. Squatting on his haunches and then lying down in the grass to get closer, the boy pulls out a magnifying glass from the back pocket of his dirty shorts; he watches the sun blaze through the glass.
The man smiles, watching the little boy patiently investigating some minuscule mystery in the grass with his little body lying still on the ground and his head raised, poised. He looked like a soldier ready to crawl under barbed wire or a rattlesnake ready to strike. The morning sun glints off of the man's belt buckle as he idly observes through the kitchen window. Sighing as he checks the time, he remembers when he was a boy and smiles again. Then the porcelain mug moves mechanically from his hand to meet his lips, and he is gulping down the black, bitter coffee.
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