12 August 2012
Crops are being harvested. The smell of grass fills the air. The tractors keep on humming... Getting ready for the country fair.
The bales are being made, They're laying out in the field. Drying out in the sun... Being counted to the yield.
Then when autumn comes And the bales have all dried. They'll be used as hard seats, To feed the horses that we ride.
©Odd
Bales • Opuss № I