Day dreams.

My mind wanders, drifting into a state of fantasy where farm-fresh food fills the crevices of my mind, where sheep play in pastures, where hands shape the earth into gold. Call me a dreamer but what I want is a farm. A life to make my own. A home to build, a field to turn, a long, hard day. Or as my great-grandma Lena did it, an old tractor with a trailer full of watermelon. *Yum*. She was such a great lady.

Dad, just slap me and tell me to wake up. Farmers have to work way too hard. ;)


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