The Condemned Man

Hang your head, John Barleycorn, for you are doomed to die.

The fields around us remain full of grain, awaiting the harvester. If I thought it was overdue last week, it's well ready now. Heads hanging low and in part flattened by the wind and rain, the tractors will be running into the night shortly.

A quiet day after yesterday's festivities, and thank you all for your kind remarks, hearts and stars.