The Error of Elightenment

       Counting by five from the first row, to row seventy nine isn't necessary, his overlay hovers the row number the instant he thinks about it, but he likes to make sure.  Puts the thermos, and his water bottle in a fish net back pack; rolls down his sleeves, maneuvering the hand tow and himself into the corn; the humidity seems to jump the instant he's in it, corn's about shoulder high, still holding the dew on their lower leaves; top of his head getting baked in the sun, knees down getting soaked: the first twenty feet were always the worst, then you got used to it.  Ripping, whacking,the unnerving sound of the burners getting closer, those operational row hogs are coming back on the next seventy nine rows, fifty feet away hog two's operating info hovered over it: shut down hogs one through ten.  Mud, at least it's cool, but is it prudent?  Over heated, relaxed, focus: hog one in row eighty one,covered in mud, cooling fan quietly buzzing.  Every thing seems to have slowed and settled.  A farm house was where his rig should be, the land was bare, ploughed under, chronologically out of synch, drifting towards the location marked E&E pipeline.  Over the pipe line standing on the top of the letter P marked the spot with the thermos, Hog Seventy Nine is just a little bit farther up the row.