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I ride out to the flower fields, leave behind the sleeping town. Lands in chocolate-tan and coffee grounds lie dormant, their only life the wispy breath of John Deere dissolving in the air. Warp-rows of broccoli expand into full carpet; celery rows stand in thick formation. Flower spice hitches a ride in on the ocean wind while field workers warm their hands over a cardboard fire. Sun rises above the hills, spilling pale yellow warmth. My shadow rides along the fields' ridge, haloed from behind, and the moon hangs pale, forgotten, in the western sky. - bardsmaid |