As We Walked In Fields of Gold

Connie's Post:
The sun had started the descent over the western proofing acre as the husband and his father finished running the deer fencing along the eastern vidal acre. they gathered up the tools and the boys. the husband's father left the eastern field with the boys as the husband walked across the field and helped his wife finish clearing the far floor of the vidal acre. it was another day of small but necessary progress.

the husband and his wife walked out of the vineyard and across the winter crop-covered field, pulling a hand cart behind them. the field starts with a gentle slope up to the old house but interspersed among the crop are wide plowing ruts that run long and parallel to the house. the tired wife giggled after several stumbles and subsequent cart yanking over the ruts. she commented, "what an awful field! but i like this yellow dry grass. it makes the field look so nice far away."

the husband looked up the hill and then down to his wife and started to sing:
We'll forget the sun in his jealous sky
as we walk through fields of gold

and then they laughed at the ridiculous thought of trying to run across the rutted field towards each other, arms out stretched. "this winter crop is barley," noted the husband. "sting has obviously never visited a barley field in his life," laughed his wife. then boy two, running down the hill to his parents tripped on a rut, and tumbled, crying for his momma to scoop him up. and so she did and so the day was done.