Rising early each day,He watches the night dissolve into the grey mist of morning,

The lonely sound of a rooster his only companion

There are animals to tend to,

Chores to complete

He worries about the sun and the rain, which are beyond his control,

Watching weather the way others follow a sport,

Intensely, 

full of predictions and anticipation, sitting around a table with others like him, breaking down the season ahead.

Rich black soil is his gold,

More precious than any object,

Smelling of rain and new life,

He gives thanks for his blessings 
Hoping this year the crop doesn’t fail

So that he has enough in the fall

To do it all again next spring