It was how his hair matched the golden grain in the fields he tended, tenderly with work-roughened hands, focused with a singular vision, so much the same as he tended me. It was his work ethic, passed down by generations, that farming was a high calling, that the sweat of his labors, the daily sky scanning would end in feeding millions, the same as his love fed me. It was his steadfast faith, solid as the earth beneath our feet that the farm would endure through downpour and drought, and so too would we.
Today I combined prompts from napowrimo.net, write a love poem, with this featured art by Anjum Wasim Dar on The Wombwell Rainbow. Thanks to both sites for the prompts.