Dear Farm Journal,
I hold the soundscapes of a work day to be as instrumental as the weather. Working with Rufus, I’ve learned to listen to songbirds and storm clouds, to eavesdrop on the whispering secrets of the ridge. However, what I gravitate to, most naturally, is music. I’m finding a balance between wild harmonies and man-made melodies, but today was a day to jam. The Mae Simpson Band pulsates in my ear buds while I plant seeds. Her soul stirring voice, bolstered by a powerhouse of fiery horns, grips my inner energy. I throw down some dance moves and belt out some chorus lines that one only dares to explore alone. It makes my work feel sweeping and grandiose, a story in every seed. I’m suddenly startled by a movement out of the corner of my eye and hastily extract my ear buds. I smile at Rufus in the doorway. I guess I wasn’t alone after all.

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