Two weeks ago, a drive out in the country took you past white fields with stubble only beginning to poke through. There were small herds of deer all over the place. I haven’t seen any lately; maybe they stick to the trees now; maybe the birthing time has begun.

Now the landscape shows a different face. There are black fields of summerfallow, dotted white with what’s left of the snow. Stubblefields are showing up their pale gold, and the swathed crops of last fall, never harvested, lay everywhere. Some of them may be salvageable, but I don’t know what kind of quality they’ll be now if they are taken off.

Water is ubiquitous. It fills the ditches and makes deep, wide sloughs in the farmers’ fields. This is good. Last year there was no such moisture around here until August. Crops couldn’t start to grow until then.

Four miles south of our place is the highway. Parallel to it runs a railroad track. We have been hearing trains go by for several days. This is supposed to mean the weather is about to change.

“OH FRIEND!
In the garden of thy heart plant naught but the rose of love, and from the nightingale of affection and desire loosen not thy hold.”
- Baha’u’llah