The Ploughman

Ploughing The farmer has ploughed the land around the almond trees the earth is rust red I took up a handful it was lumpy, full of dead plants and still warm from the sun. A breeze was blowing shaking dust of trees and upending parasols in gardens of those who do not till this land, but want to be a part of the rustic idyll, tend rose bushes with gloved hands to avoid callouses on hands used to type on a word processor, where they try and fail to share the peace they have found among small farmers travail. I have the camera with me, but use it not how does one shoot a picture of the wind or branches of a tree moving rhythmically as the second dancer at a Bolshoi performance attended by the prime minister. Think I will leave the wind to a painter friend of mine.