He spoke so quick I couldn't understand ( no matter, for he spoke not much at all; he knew that words could quickly make a wall). I saw him stoop and slowly stretch his hand to grab a rock and toss it from the field, as he had done for hours as a child, while papa carted off the stones he piled.But then he stopped, as if some voice concealed within the rock had opened up his eyes; there was no wind that day, he stood as still as the corn stalks, and didn't feel the fly that landed on his cheek, or feel the chill settling in the air. He thought of the field, and let the stone fall.
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