His eyes, mere slits,
stares at the slowly moving field,
a moving field of wheat.
The unforgiving sun,
with its unbearable heat,
strangling all life
from his precious golden wheat.
A blue, blue sky,
often a welcomed sight,
not so for a farmer,
fighting against a drought.
He hides his concerns,
his worries, his fears,
behind words of comfort
for those he holds dear.
From experience he knows,
that droughts come and go,
to be a successful farmer,
he must adapt to the flow.
"Nature, a fickle mistress she is"
his father used to say when winds began to twist,
the sky turn purple and flash with light,
he and his brothers, shaking with fright.
"Fickle indeed" he says to himself
as he cast his memory to last years events.
It had rained as in the days of Noah,
his field of wheat, ....more like an ocean.
"Hard to believe that that was just a year ago"
he mutters to himself standing there in his field of gold.
Lost in reminiscence, suddenly a new scent.
Carried by a cool breeze, heralding a change.
Creeping clouds of grey, growing in the distance,
rain is surely coming, so says a farmer's wisdom.
Much relieved and hope again restored,
he says a silent prayer and begins his long walk home.
(Citizen Z)
(The image is a graphite drawing)
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