Farm Fields

By Patricia Anne McGoldrick

They lay there
for months
untouched
except for the random roaming of a red fox in search of food
 
Those fields are hard and brittle
Frozen with cold
Not summer soft to the footstep
No earthy smells of green alfalfa and clover
No tall stalks of cob-laden corn
 
Farm fields are not so inviting
Sitting still and fallow
Waiting to be reborn. 

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