I am a man of the soil, a farmer.
Wide open fields of lush green or honey brown, paths of mud and stiles, trees, grass, the song of birds and the gurgle of the stream, this is my world. Waking up to greet the dawn, toiling all day until I earn my rest, and then finally relaxing to the music of the insects as they dance with the winds. This is my day.
Not for me are the constraints and confines of city housing.
Yet I sit here today, in a compact apartment, overlooking another apartment, my closest link to the earth being a few potted plants, with a content smile on my lips.
It is the way of nature…
A man feels great satisfaction the day he builds his own home, but he feels even greater pride the day he steps into his son’s home.
In response to the 132nd Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers challenge.