Farm

          You let the afternoon heat seep into your bones, closing your eyes as you lean back against the tree. The rough bark digs into your back but you are too weary to find a better resting place. You don't think your legs would support your weight right now. The most movement you can do is brush your hand over the few thin blades of grass that struggle to live under the shade of the tree. Their dry crispness rustles and reminds you that you need to water your orchard next.
          But that can wait.
          Instead you take the moment to listen to the bluebirds singing delightfully over their provided nests that you tucked into the hanging gourds. You watch as the neighborhood blue heron stalks the edge of the lake for its next meal. You listen to the soft breeze knock your wind chimes together where they hang by the house. You hear your dogs bark at the horses in the next field over, an invitation to play with them. You don't hear your neighbor's tractor. Maybe on a break as well.
          You sigh and relax as much as you can without twinging your muscles. The farm might be new compared to how long some other folks have had theirs in this area, but slowly you are making it your own. Slowly it is shifting from 'the farm' to 'your farm' and it's earning the title of home.