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I’m drawn to the fields where the soft wheat shimmers beneath the sun, where sweat drips down the back of my neck as I walk for hours thinking about everything and nothing in particular.

I’m drawn to the fields where I lay my head down and drift up to the clouds, where I open my arms and leap among the sails and billows listening to laughter and realize it is my own.

I’m drawn to the fields where the wind blows before me, behind me and through me, where I turn and I run and I dance in the beauty and understand that the kernel of wheat must fall so that others may live.

Photo: field near 794, Oak Creek, Wisconsin

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