The youngest called again about the place, this time asking what the hired man thought of him coming back. I was glad enough to answer too quickly, which made the boy go quiet a moment. I don't want him hearing a promise I've made on somebody else's behalf. More than that, I don't want him coming home because I sounded lonesome on the phone. But I was lonesome after we hung up, looking at the chair he'd sit in if he were here. My wife asked whether it had been a good call. It had. That didn't stop me wanting another hour of it, with him talking about something besides what the ranch would need from him.

The book my wife left on the table has a man walking away from land his family kept for years. I kept waiting for the writer to show he was making a mistake, then realised I was supplying that part myself. There wasn't much in the story to say he ought to stay. I can understand leaving when I think about each of my children, and get stubborn about it when it's a stranger on a page. Maybe because the page can't argue back. Told my wife the fellow should have given it another season. She asked how many seasons would satisfy me. I went back to reading, but the question has stayed with me longer than the chapter.

Took the horse out after supper without any particular job to do. My hips were stiff getting settled, then eased as we walked and I quit trying to hurry the first part. The right hand stayed loose on the reins; it does better when I remember it doesn't need to hold everything tight. There was enough cool air coming under my hat to dry the sweat, and by the turn for home I was comfortable in a way I seldom notice while working. Getting down took its usual pause before both feet agreed on the ground. I stood beside the horse with a hand on his neck, not checking anything, just waiting for my legs to catch up. We had both come back slower than we went out.