Undisturbed grass stood tall on the rolling field.
Occasionally, a path, where animals happened to cross,
matted down the meadow.
The first crop clover, rye and alfalfa,
scorched brown half way up the stems.

As the hot sun changed position in the sky
a tractor pulled blades around and around,
severing the hay from the turf
and laying it behind between the tire tracks in the dusty soil.
A canopy over the operator kept
the drowsy heat of the sun off her
but it didn’t protect from the monotonous hum of the diesel engine.
She gazed at the poise grass to the right of the tractor,
seeing that it goes behind the curtain and into the rotating knives.
Even in her dazed state, no patch of grass remained left standing.

About a half dozen laps into the field,
the moan of the tractor was interrupted by the crunch of bone.
Moments later, tangled among the strewn grass of the windrow was fur.
She looked impassively at the dismembered corpse
knowing that the fawn waited unknowingly
as the destructive roar approached.
She continued until the entire field was dead on the ground.