hilltop bag waggers

bag waggers on top of the hill. all aligned in staggered miltary rows. waving their bags and brandishing their stripped necklace strings. the wind just as you would imagine, strong and steady. the bag waggers stand bold and brazen against the strong arm of the wind. treetops bend but they do not cry. whistles whistle but they do not weep. planted, terra firma, with their scarves all eskew, the bag waggers evenly spread across the suburban skyline. water towers and pistol shops punctuate the blank horizon. the vegetable man and the county clerk wave goodbye for the day. bidding their bids while airing their airs and casting their shadows. hands in pockets to protect from the wind and the worry. crags and crops and soft, milky sapplings. paths, tread and worn like some out of focus, distant ancient slide show. water, pooled by the swollen depressionist collector, just over the grassy knob to the east. all the while, the bag waggers, in the distance, standing stupid and stubborn. all of this, classified as a fetish on someone's homepage. a standard drop down menu item on this unremarkable winter's eve.