The Drought by Patricia Fulton, Extended Imagery

affection, dragged his drool-covered snout across Nathan’s bare leg. Ignoring the twinge in his neck, Nathan returned the affection with an aggressive scrub behind the hound’s ears.
    Man and dog walked into the kitchen together. Agador crossed the wood floor. He sat by the backdoor, a look of mild reproach on his face, as Nathan fumbled with the coffee filter. Nathan responded without looking away from his task, “Stop staring at me, I’ll get the door when I’m done.” He pushed the brew button, walked across the room and opened the door. He stood there for a moment watching his aging companion come alive under the onslaught of new scents until Agador, true to his long line of descent, caught a strong scent and disappeared into the surrounding woods.
    While the coffee brewed, Nathan sat at the kitchen table and picked up yesterday’s paper. He and his deputy, Daniel Dupier, were on the front page holding the duffel bag full of money. The headline read: LOCAL LAW ENFORCEMENT FINDS ABANDONED CASH.
    Below the headline, a smaller caption revealed the amount to be $500, 000 dollars. On page A5 there was another picture of Nathan pointing at the bullet holes in the windshield of the Mercury. The last photograph was a picture of the Mercury hanging from a cable after it was pulled from the marsh. The picture reminded Nathan of a scene from Jaws .
    The one where everyone is on the dock slapping each other on the back after a crew catches a large tiger shark. The people are too jovial. They want to believe they’ve caught the enemy but deep down they already know the real threat is still out there lurking in the water.
    The picture of the Mercury combined with the snatch of dream he’d woken to made him feel uneasy. He couldn’t shake the image of the car pushing the giant tumbleweed down the road toward Reserve, or the feeling something menacing had arrived with the car. You meant someone right, Nathan? Answering his inner voice he said, “Someone.” It didn’t sound convincing. He got up, rummaged through the junk drawer for a pair of scissors and cut the story from the paper.
    Contemplating the picture, he poured himself a cup of coffee before heading out to the front porch. When he was a child visiting for the summer his Grandma Anne would wake him up and beckon him outside. “Wake up, Nathan. Come see what God’s got in store for you today.” The porch was east facing, offering a front row seat everyday to a beautiful sunrise.
    In many respects Nathan’s return to Reserve was the act of a coward. He had never come to terms with the death of his three-year-old daughter or the failure of his marriage which quickly followed. News of his grandmother’s death had given him the excuse to leave. He left Atlanta like a thief in the night, the letter an alibi in his pocket, the truth a stone in his heart.
    Staying in his grandmother’s house brought back a flood of childhood memories. The thought of selling the place, the thought of strangers living within these walls making memories he would covet was too much for him. After weeks of indecision, he decided to quit his old life and move into his grandmother’s house. Once he made the decision, he had felt a sense of peace he hadn’t known in years. He also felt his grandmother’s approval and imagined her spirit was still hovering, ready to fuss at him for the slightest misstep.
    He sat in the silky darkness savoring the smells of morning: the dew clinging to the grass blades, the damp night soil, the pulpy smell of trees. Tendrils of light crept over the horizon. The dark canvas shifted. Slowly the landscape took shape. Trees appeared where before there was only the smooth surface of emptiness. The sky shifted again, its velvety depths unfolding into a myriad of colors. Black, purple, lavender, balmy rose edged in shimmering white. Light danced across the grass, tiny bursts of sunshine reflected in the dew.
    He felt his grandmother’s presence in the soft