Alarm sounded. Broad brimmed white hats went scurrying this way and that. Farm hands rushed to their well deserved rest. Sun already started scorching and won't stop burning the land till the dusk comes. Only those who have suit or sunblock will be able to walk under the sky. There was no breeze. Pity. I love the music made by plastic bottles on top of poles that support beans, peas and fry.
Everyone went down into the dugout. Chicken clucked. Turkeys responded by gobbling. It was time for me, as well, to retreat underground.
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