Sikobonden's Fotothing

I don't know that for the old farmer, life was wasted on the land. But maybe at the end of life, there was a lot of work, and not much to show for it.

My wife's grandfather was born upon, lived and worked and eventually owned, and retired from, the same dairy farm. It was a single-farmer operation, and he never had much to show for it. Neither did he want much more from life. Perhaps that is the hidden beauty of his life. When the farm was sold, and his belongings moved out, there were coffee cans filled with cash stashed here and there. That's where his rain finished its journey, minus the sadness. I can hardly imagine the hard work his body endured.

I prefer life in a farming community over that anywhere else. My poetry doesn't often fit exactly with the subject matter of my photos. But the imagery sometimes does.

The verse from Pocket: To the living, a loved one in the arms of the earth is wasted on the land when those living would prefer that one to be alive in their own arms. That person's death feels cold and final to those who mourn, "like rain finished with its journey."

"...a loved one in the arms of the earth is wasted on the land when those living would prefer that one to be alive in their own arms."

There are times when no truer words could be spoken. Grief is so deep. And when we recover from it, the depth is even more profound.

Wow. Thanks for making me think. :-)