Ian Hardeman

Against the Maple

Buffalo County sits thick in fog as my mother and I put the finishing touches on our faces. It’s too early for anyone to be doing their makeup. The kind of early that when the sun finally reaches and stretches into the sky, it reveals patches and crooked lines upon the face. But now, here in the dim light before dawn, Mom looks beautifully made up. Tired-but gorgeous. The skin under her arm hangs loose as she blots her red lipstick, weighed down by the day’s task.