Yes, I did not say ‘The Angry Farmer’… Simply ‘Angry Farmer’ for that is his name. Let it be said with quiet awe… Angry Farmer is real.
His irritation was complete, his ability to box up his anger in to strictly controlled subject matter… His ready smile as he dangled the prize of ‘who wants to feed my lamb’ right on the heels of his rage of ‘I can’t believe you landed your hot air balloon in my godamn airfield…’ was an intense showing. I swear I had to look twice because I felt that we had bonded, that perhaps we had already loved and divorced in this life. It was beautiful. Even as they served champagne later and I studied the ranting farmer… my very own Angry Farmer, through the haze of a booze induced stupor… It occurred to me that I was even watching a passive aggressive artist at work.
It was love, I tell you… sweet love. My eyes followed him hungry as he paced and ranted, and then I looked on adoringly as he appeared cool and collected…
“Let’s feed the lambs” Angry Farmer said.
“Yes, let’s” I replied… following him blindly even as my tortured heart screamed “I will follow you anywhere, Angry Farmer.”
It was real, our love. For a moment we passed through each others lives… My own Angry Farmer.
I swear, I nearly called him Baby….
‘Huzzah!’ I say for the human condition…
Love,
Lynn – lovin’ Angry Farmer from her soap-box
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