The Farm

"I think I'll sell the farm," he said.

She looked surprised! Then, standing at the window, she silently communed with the land. "For forty three years you've been our home. We built a house on one of your corners and three little girls played on your green grass. We bought you with pride and anticipation, and with a sense of possessiveness we fenced your boundaries. We scattered barns and buildings over your surface. We pocked your face with wells, ditches for water pipes and electric wires, and graves for the old dog and the precious fuzzy cat.

You gave us grazing for the sleek, black cows and soil for a bountiful garden.

Your dust has filled our nostrils in the summer and in the winter your mud has clung to our boots, making us one.

"It's too late to sell," she said.
(This is a re post; having a little trouble with the blog and trying to see if this gets it back for me.)