Bare feet streak
bare ground
Birds’ tracks lace
the dust
Skin prickles as
the air chills
And coy yowls
welcome nightfall
Barn fans hum in
my ears
Tractor planting
in the south field
Grumbles as it
goes
Only an hour or
two left of daylight
While sunrays
paint cloud wisps
Flares of gold and
orange
Mirror mild flames
burning
Silver thatch’s
brilliance
Path ends as
daylight fades
I turn back home
again
Realizing I made
the right choice
Farmland instead
of the City
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