You are a farmer.
You own a nice, large field that you tend to by yourself. You got it for a relatively cheap price, especially considering how fertile the soil was here, and you have been working it all by yourself ever since. You live at least an hour’s drive away from the city, far out of earshot of any neighbors. In fact, no neighbors have been near you in a while, but that’s okay. You have your plants and the rocks and the dirt and the trees and the wind to keep you company.
You wake up one starless August night under the crescent moon in a cold sweat, having had a very strange and, admittedly, a very quickly forgotten nightmare about…bees, perhaps? Something yellow and dark and numerous and dangerous. Anywho, it doesn’t matter now, it was simply a dream. Just a bad dream.
After a half an hour of lying in your bed, awake, you decide to get a mug of cocoa or your favorite type of tea, and possibly some fresh air while you’re at it. Now that you think about it, you do feel a bit lightheaded. Maybe it is for the better that you go outside and take a walk in your fields, neatly arranged by type of crop, so that you have to walk through one to get to the next, them being west of your house by circumstance. An odd little tidbit of no importance to anyone but you, which makes you chuckle for some strange reason. You make your drink and pour it into a little Thermos, and you slip on your shoes and throw on a hat as you open the door, because it is a bit nippy out, but that’s okay.
You walk through your corn, and you smell the sweet kernels growing in abundance. How you got this land for such a deal is a mystery, one that you don’t believe you have any real need to solve. At one point you feel something like a peeled-off corn husk touch the top of your head. You smile, feeling completely at peace.
You walk through your wheat, feeling the warmth of the soil and the toughness of the fallen grains mix together and seep between your toes. You smile, feeling completely at peace.
You decide to stop at your sunflowers for a while. You stop between the wheat and the sunflowers, a bit out of arm’s reach of either one. You turn from left to right a bit, being able to count each and every brown little circle looking at you like the pupil of an eye. You trace the petals of the flower closest you, needing something to do with your empty hands, and you see the plump roundness of the full moon behind it like a halo, and you feel the warmth of the soil seep between your toes, and at one point you feel something like a peeled-off corn husk touch the top of your head. You smile, feeling completely at peace.