fill yer bellies
The harvest is in, except for a few cornfields, left for the sweet anticipation of another day. The stubble that remains provides an interesting contrast with other textures in fields adjacent. The pale green growth of next year’s early season crops. Magnetic brown, newly ploughed terrain, full of seagulls.
The farmer slumps across the wheel of his hi tech controlled-environment crop processing machine; tractor to me and you. Although the air conditioning does away with the need for sweating its soul is there, metaphorical perspiration.
Barns bulge and granaries groan. Tables bend under the weight of produce served up to open eyed families and wider circles of friends, privileged guests for the forthcoming feast. Corks pop, laughter pervades then slows to a silence. We slump into hibernation.