A farmer scatters seed in a field. Half-hearted hands cast from a bag on his hip. Eyes, far away, see a boat skimming the waves under summer sun, full sail, fresh rush of air. Heels crush crumbling clods, bringing him back to the earth where he lives. It is good, this touch of sod and seed, the gift of growing things. It is life and love, this piece of land next to the sea where the wind blows.