General

Into skies from heaven-spun black to the bluest cloud-free scapes, stretch Earth's gold fields.

General

Each wand of wheat embraces its doorway into the sky, for as palpable as love itself is the home of the divine. And so the fields of gold realise their truth, that they are the treasure born of Earth to grow.

General

The gold fields fed our souls as much as our bellies, for in the sepia light of the setting sun they surpassed any masterpiece anyplace, anytime.

General

When we escaped the money-nexus, wheat was our gold, and those fields, those blessed fields, were poetry to the soul.