“The true harvest of my life is intangible—a little star dust caught, a portion of the rainbow I have clutched.”–Henry David Thoreau
Walking through the falling leaves is a true simple joy….the crushed leaves scent the air, an intoxicating mix mingling with the smell of the corn as it rushes into the hopper then into the waiting grain truck. We are so dry the warm air seems to fling me up like a kite
I stood in last year’s bean field standing in the dead pinto bean vines; Boomer somewhere close by and Min-Min cat washing her paws next to me…the storm sweeping across the plateau with a dark curtain of rain coming toward our farm, when I actually got a lightening bolt.
Small though it was.
From my world to your heart