The Hopping Field

Dusk, the last day of harvest and Luke stood with his wheel barrow, gazing out at the Hopping Field. After a moments searching his eyes settled on a small mound of stones piled up to waist height in a far corner of the barren plot.

His weather beaten face cracking in a smile, he said, ā€˜Iā€™m coming Granma. Just you wait.ā€™ Then moving quickly he set off towards the mound.

No time to waste. Continue reading “The Hopping Field”

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