The hot sun seared the back of my neck
With each stubborn stone dug from the ground,
dust whirled into the air to cake on my sweat.
Dry soil rubbed into the cravesses of our calloused hands
as each rock was lifted from the ground.
Each one felt heavier than the one before it.

We started the day talking and laughing.
Toward the middle of the twelve acre field,
I was burnt with fatigue.

My father, the boss, embraced his party.
He never seemed to tire, his mind set on turning a
rocky pasture into a silky cropland.
He would ask us if we’d like to end it,
return home for a cool drink of tea.
The answer was always no.
We had a vision and sunlight to spare.