The corn changes overnight: taller and a deeper green. Soon I will not have, this morning scene I see. My horizon will be tasseled tops at field’s edge and not distant trees past open fields. The field will be a “jungle” of perfect lined 30” rows in which children will get lost calling “Marco” back to their brother or sister and waiting for the report of “Polo” to guide their safe return into the yard.
For a month, the field didn’t seem to do a thing. The world was wet, cool, and rather than grow, the plants held on—waiting for the right time to climb to the sky. The world has changed. The world has warmed. Days are long, and the crops in the field having held on—waiting for their time to grow—sense their time is now. The world is different ever day, and in daylight and darkness, they climb to the sky.