A WISE FARMER
Looked over his fields of golden corn.
It wouldn’t be long now until harvest. The crows were restless and swiping the ripe cobs at any opportunity. Luckily the scarecrows were there or else there would be no corn left!
He left his house and walked down to the fields on a path that meandered through the trees. He felt the breeze pick up slightly. The trees swayed gently and in a way that seemed co-operative. It was almost as if they were trying to tell him something through a language of movement.
The farmer couldn’t work out what he was thinking so he tuned back into his duties. He worked on the machines that would be used to harvest the corn in a few weeks time. The corn was prime to be plucked from its stalk and sold to make a living…
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