MIST OF MEMORY

April 1, 2012.   I baled hay on these fields, in the hot summer sun of July.  This land never looked so enticing to me, so inviting for further investigation.  It only ever looked like work.  The alfalfa and clover, as they grew, became ripe with the promise of long days sweating and burning, coolness only being found under the wagon, with a glass of Aunt Gert's cool aid and a square of cake.