Crows

Words 299

A golden vista filled the monitor of a drone being flown by Sam, a young farmer over a mile away from the field of wheat. As the wind changed direction it seemed as if a giant’s hand swept back and forth across a field of yellow velvet. Some golden stalks leaned one way and others in the opposite direction. The heads of wheat nodded, full of promise.

Sam steered the motorised camera across the crop, searching for anything which would need him to drive out to the field.
He turned when he heard his wife coming out on to the veranda. She smiled at him and placed a coffee and piece of homemade cake on the fence railing.
“All good?” she asked.
Sam knew she needed to hear that he was feeling positive about the upcoming harvest and did his best to make her feel better. “So long as the weather holds up, it should be fine.” He smiled.

Sarah scooped up their toddler daughter on to her hip, “This is the year, Sam. We’ll wipe much of the debt.” She looked through the drone’s monitor at the waving, golden wheat. The light shining on the swollen ears was a joy to behold after two years of drought.
Sarah saw a look on her husband’s face which still concerned her and she smoothed a frown from his brow. “What is it, Sam?” She peered over his shoulder at the monitor and saw the black shapes. It had been the flocks of birds which had sent her husband into the depressive state out of which he was only recently emerging.
“Wheat field with crows,” he murmured. Then he looked at Sarah and his infant daughter and shrugged. “Vincent Van Goch’s last painting before he killed himself.”

Prompt: light, bird, wheat.