Reflections in the barley

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Katie stood tall, watching the familiar yet ever-changing dance of the wind in the barley. David’s strong hand enfolded hers; her free hand rested protectively on the bump in her belly: a baby, a flesh-and-blood baby, doing what nature intended.

“Who will harvest this now?” he asked.
She looked up at him for a moment before pressing her back to him. He circled her with his arms and touched his cheek to hers as they surveyed the farmland that had, so recently, belonged to her parents. “You know,” she said quietly, “it doesn’t matter any more.”

They stood a moment longer, watching the dance and listening to the wind in the power lines, before she said “let’s go home.”

They held hands again and walked back towards the car. “How do you feel?” he asked.

“Human,” she said, “I feel human.”

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