The warm, earthy smell of the freshly worked dirt.
The feel of the wheat, a heavy handful, slipping through my fingers in a mesmerizing trickle.
The creak and jangle of the drill.
The clanking of the press wheels.
The slam of the drill lids, filled again.
Work boot prints in the dirt from my farmer.
The beauty of the drill lines, leaving behind a seed bed.
Tiny, tiny kernels nestled into the earth.
Waiting to sprout, seeking moisture and sunlight.
Bursting forth, quietly, green blades.
My Kansas wheat.
Breathtakingly beautiful and I am awed yet again at God’s design.