This is a 69er…a 69er is a fixed-prose that has 69 words in it, no more and no less!
On a drive to Oklahoma City, I glimpsed several cows lounging together around a water tank. The windmill’s blades had been blown to smithereens, barely dangling together in a droopy arc over the cows; rather like a flower wilting. I couldn’t see, but if there was water in that tank the windmill didn’t do it. I guess a place to gather and catch some sun doesn’t necessarily require water.
Prose Me 