I know how it was long, long ago when the roads were only two thin tracks through grass, where a buggy, now and then, might pass or a wagon going very slow. I recall the unfenced fields for miles and no house on them had a guiding light, where, coming home, a man got lost a while even on his own familiar land, at night.
In that time, we mowed the hay with birds darting about our heads in silent grace. Our pain, our joy were soundless too, for words seemed so small, and swallowed up by space.
Land was our legacy. We understood that we must tend it, raise enough to eat and, of our strength, be our own neighborhood with stars, jack rabbits, wind - and find it sweet.