Chapter 59 Seed beans - 2

On top of a birch tree nearby there is a brown song-sparrow—some call it a red-browed bird—singing all morning, and would love to keep you company.If your field is not here, it will fly to another farmer's field.When you sow, it cries, "Drop, drop, drop it--cover, cover, cover--pull, pull, pull up." But this isn't corn, there won't be anything like it enemies come to eat the crops.You may wonder what its nonsense, like an amateur Paganini-like performance on one string or twenty, has anything to do with your sowing.But you would rather listen to songs than prepare ashes or mortar.These are one of my most trusted and cheapest quality fertilizers.

When I dug new soil with my hoe at the edge of the furrow, I turned up the ashes of an unrecorded people who lived under this sky in ancient times, and their small weapons of war and hunting were exposed. under the modern sun.They were mixed with other natural stones, some still bearing the marks of the Indian fire, some sun-baked, and some pottery and glass, probably the remnants of a modern cultivator.When my hoe jingled on stone, and the sound of music was carried to the woods and into the air, my labors, with such accompaniment, at once yielded immeasurable harvests.I don't grow beans, I don't grow beans; I remember with pity and pride then, if I do remember, that some of my acquaintances went to town to hear oratorios up.And on this sunny afternoon, with the nighthawk circling over my head—I sometimes work all day—it was like a grain of sand in my eye, or a grain of sand in the eye of the sky Sand, it sometimes descends with its wings, and with a loud cry, the sky seems to be torn apart, and finally it seems to be torn into rags, but the sky is still not a single crack; there are many small elves flying in the air, on the ground, There are many eggs laid on the yellow sand or on the rocks and on the top of the mountain, few people have seen them; they are beautiful and slender, like the ripples rolled up by the lake water, and like the rising leaves blown into the air by the phoenix; in nature, there are many eggs. Such congeniality.The eagle is the aerial brother of the wave, and above the wave it flies and surveys, and the perfect eagle's wings flap in the air, as the featherless wings of the element of the sea in return.Sometimes I watch a pair of hawks hovering high in the sky, up and down, near and far, as if they were the embodiment of my own thoughts.Or I was attracted by a flock of wild pigeons, and watched them fly from one wood to the other, rushing by with some buzzing and trembling sounds; A salamander, a sluggish, strange, ugly appearance, is still a remnant of Egypt and the Nile, but it is contemporary with us.When I stopped, leaning on my hoe, the sounds and sights I could hear and see from anywhere in the furrow were a part of country life with infinite pleasure.

On festival days, salutes are fired from the town, and the sound of air guns is heard in the forest, and sometimes some military music is carried as far.I am far away in the bean field outside the city, and the sound of the cannon sounds like dust bacteria bursting; if the army is dispatched, and I don't know what is going on, I will be in a trance all day long and feel that the horizon seems to be itchy and numb, Like a rash on the verge, maybe scarlet fever, maybe horseshoe cancer, until then some good wind blew across the land and up the Weiland Highway and brought me news of the trainers.There was the sound of camping in the distance, as if someone's bees had come out of the nest, so the neighbors followed Virgil's method and took out the loudest pots and pans and tapped them lightly, calling them to go back to the hive.When the voice is gone, and the camping is dead, and the softest breeze tells no tales, I know the last of the humongous has been driven safely back to the Middlesex hive, and now they're thinking Smeared with honey from the hive.

I am proud to know that the liberties of Massachusetts and our country are so safe; and when I turn back to the plow, I go on with my labors with inexpressible confidence and calm hope for the future.