Empty belly, energy reserved. Sitting on the untameable veins of the land, pondering upon the days either side of now. The crops will have to wait, and they shall, until they are old enough to sway in the wind.
The peas do not recall their pods. The fauna does not name it's father. I will continue to sit in the night, swaying, until this fact becomes fallacy.
Hello everyone. I'm Nightsway.