The Lonely Thought

I met an old maize farmer one Summer. He had just returned from harvest, his clothes dirty and full of powdered maize and grass. He was tanned, with the years in the maize field deeply visible on his forehead.

I asked him, why on earth would one pursue such a career? To slave in the sun, day-in and day-out, with the turn of the season signalling the new beginning born from the previous beginning's end. I could not understand why one would put up with the temperamental seasons, the sporadic support of mother nature and the uncertain financial sustenance such an existence might hold.

He looked at me and simply replied, "Son, since my wife passed away I try to keep this ol' mind busy as best I can", showing me his dark boney hands with the sun tattooed deep into the cracking skin.