Last Harvest

He is up before the sun breaks the horizon

Making his way to the barn in the distance haze of the Ohio plains

The sweet ripe smell of corn fills the air around

His bloodhound on his heel

He swings open the big red barn doors

Dust flies in the air and mice scatter

There she sits, the love of his life

He makes his way to the back of the musty old barn

He climbs up her steps and swings open the big green door

He cranks the engine.

She burps up a cloud of black smoke

Filling up the dark barn with smoke from her internals

The dog once in the dusky entrance is now a silhouette.

He makes his first pass with the sunrise in the hazy hills

The ripe smell of corn slowly evaporates into the humid morning air

The last cut of his crop astonishes him

Another successful year