I see the tractors circling in fields around mine and I know. I know that they are coming like vulchers for the fields of wheat that I have grown to love this spring.
I can remember how my military friends who were from the Midwest would talk about the wheat.
Watching it grow
And turn from green to golden
It swaying in the breeze
The sun hitting it just right, so as to create its own sea of golden sunshine.
I will miss it when the plow comes, silly I know.
But those of you who grew up near it understand.
As I now do,
Just what he meant when he penned the verse
"Amber Waves of Grain..."