FARMERS. NOT ONES YOU SEE.

I keep watching the corn stalks grow. They are immense! Every year they amaze me with their sheer gargantuaness. I ride by them on my bicycle, quickly at first, and then I slow down a little, and wonder what it must be like to walk through them very gently, trying not to disturb them or to impede their kernel-growing ardor. I imagine myself lying down in the midst of the stalks and watching the sun rise into the sky, as I am holding hands. But–with whom? And are there corn-related bugs? Doesn’t the sun rise over there, not here? Again, whose hand exactly am I holding? And then I ride just a little bit faster past the corn that soon the secret farmers chop down to the root to stop us from thinking such things. Secret because, I believe that, compared to most farmers, they are invisible. Compared, mind you.