It is a humming green
screaming summer morning. Blue sky above, insane birds everywhere, celebrating.
Dew shines on the long leaves of the corn. Old greybeards going to work: one heads south on Highway E as I head north. Great bales of hay in the fields where the canning factory sprays its waste water, the field west of Highway E just north of town, the other field to the east. The field of alfalfa which had been cut has been entirely baled too. The corn is getting big enough now you can barely seen down between the rows. Another field is black dirt still, planted now, but nothing has sprouted as yet. I suppose the farmer has a plan. Farmers always have their plans, even if they don't get written down.
Northwest of Five Corners there are pea viners out in a field, rolling. They roll on, a measure of the progress of the season. There's no denying: it's summer!
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