Reaping

It was harvest time.  Torvald hated harvest time.  It wasn’t bad with animals, but... 

He mounted his tractor and sat for a long moment before turning the keys.  The engine rumbled to life.  The blades in the back glinted as he drove to the north field, which as usual was filled with song. 

The corn was first to spot him, being the tallest.  “Farmer Tor!” said the nearest stalk, and the cry spread down the field. 

“Have you come to water us?  It’s still so early,” said a pea pod.

Torvald shook his head.  “Afraid not,” he said.  “Not today.”