Dear Farm Journal,
The land is parched and welcomes the weeping sky, soaking in new vigor. As I scan the farmstead, the plants convalesce, amending their slouching posture. Petals peel open, garlic scapes spiral onward, cucumbers clamber skyward, and new growth abounds. In this instant, I’m coupled with all of my fellow farmers, nodding to the cloud cover in thanksgiving.

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