The farm each spring is as a blossom bud upon a cherry wand, opening into the stronger light and the heat of the brighter season.
The farm upon a rustic wind that speaks of olden days, is keeper of the variation that evolution gave; for here looking up at a denim sky live treasures of creation.
The wheels of straw rest on their earthen bed, soaking in sunshine, adding their fragrance to the day that develops as an old photographic film may. Under the sky that is made all the more pretty for the scattered clouds, the white puffs that radiate white light, every colour is made more gay. Perhaps this is the pride of nature, this simple scene of flora and fauna, and the biggest blessing is to witness its beauty.
Amid the wheat, amid the soft golden ears, moves the unseen wind. It moves my hair and sea of summer grass all the same. In these moments on the farm there is an eternity in each second, a joy that comes in the free birdsong and a steadiness to my heart and soul. And supporting all this is the humble Earth, that sweet rich brown that brings all this in concert with the sunshine. If I could wish for peace within this human body and all around, I could wish for no more.
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