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The Mad Agriculture Journal

Published on

November 30, 2020

Written by

Ada Taylor

Pulling down the driveway I look outside to see huge areas of soil covering the land. The arched trees catch sunlight through their pockets, spreading beams of sunlight on our car. As the car comes to halt I run out, waving to my dad. I can see his warm and bright smile. The sun hits my back. Warm. My feet run faster and faster, each step I get closer to my dad. As I run I almost step into the soil that they are planting seeds in. When I reach him, I hug him. Tight. I walk away talking to some of my dad’s friends, seeing what they are up to. I finally ask if I can walk in the dirt. Yes. My feet sink and sink, then I pull them out. Pull. Sink. Pull. Sink. I reach the end, then run. I can see some grasshoppers hopping. What would it be like to be a grasshopper? What would it feel like? I know I would love it! I walk over to a large wooden table and lay down with my brothers. The sun hits my face. I turn so the sun doesn’t blind me. I swing my feet off the table and walk inside the office. I see a chandelier made of cranes. I admire it. I take some time to work with the seeds they are sorting inside. Then I stand up and stretch my arms to the sky. I walk over to the large whiteboard. I grab a marker. I used the marker to draw a chicken. A funny one. Just as I put my marker down to admire my work I hear a distant loud voice “Let’s go!” My mom. I erase the chicken and walk to the car slumping. “Please 10 more minutes!” I whine. It’s hard to convince my mom. “No.” she says. I plop myself in the car waving. We pull out and drive away. I wave. They wave and smile. I smile too.

Originally published in
Mad Agriculture Journal Issue 4


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