This wheat field is just a few miles south of where I live. Fields like these used to be more prevalent in our area but have slowly disappeared as the suburbs continue to sprawl. I do love them, though, and I couldn't pass this one by without stopping to take some photographs earlier this week.
I think this poem is an appropriate accompaniment to the photo:
Song of the Wheat
Green and amber and gold it grows
When the sun sinks late in the West;
And the breeze sweeps over the rippling rows
Where the quail and the skylark nest.
Mountain or river or shining star,
There's never a sight can beat --
Away to the sky-line stretching far --
A sea of the ripening Wheat.
--A.B. "Banjo" Paterson
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