by Jack Cady
Laborers with grade rakes were already hitting some of the contours. The sight of men carefully making accurate forms with a rake made him feel that he was watching something very old which was also exciting and new. It was a feeling that continually came to him these days. He rubbed the side of his face, automatically touched the scar that lay like a permanent burn, and knew that this was his last landscaping job. There was more to trees than planting them.
He smiled, nearly laughed and turned to look over the great run of land. High cumulus floated in blue air. The spring rains had been heavy. The grass was waist high in the countryside. Upstate, the deer would be crossing the highways. There was sense to it all, power in it all. Tracker tested the air, tested the force of his mind, and felt renewed.
