Patience, that’s the best word to describe farming. Impatience, the second best word to describe farming. For days watching the stalks, grown from the golden seed, reach to the blue sky. Fickle is the rain, true is the sun, patient…and impatient is the farmer. They dance the waltz year after year. And despite how fast, or how slow, they return, year after year, filling life’s dance card.
Dancing…that’s how the season ends and she’s home again this year…many wonder if she’ll come.
“Is she brave enough?” That’s what they are chirping at coffee each afternoon.
Brave? Heck, it’s tenacity, that’s what gets her through, pure tenacity. It galls them, how she keeps going despite years of gossip.
I better be polishing my dress shoes, wouldn’t want to miss those birds eaten crow come Saturday night.
Patience, tenacity, and a flock of crows…this should make for a good whirl on the dance floor.
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