There is nothing compassionate about farm labor. There is no sympathy or cooperation from the Earth, and no correspondence with the mystic Nature with a capital N, the one romanticized for centuries. Reaping the bounty of the Earth is a job handed to the ground dwellers by the apartment and carpet dwellers, it is the necessary fuel to keep the Energy moving.
Without mirrors and without many faces around me and without much property I can quickly forget who I am. I am a reflection of a motley cast of faces. Many extravagant pieces of this landscape will soon be unfolded- the paths, plants, people, and wild, wild animals.
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