Amber Waves of Grain

We're all to hell.
We're in complete vehicle breakdown situation once again, with nothing running, parts all over the place and another shirt wasted because of grease and oil. There was a time this morning when the weedeater was the only internal combustion engine on the farm that was operational, or so I believed, and I refused to try to start it and prove my theory. I just took it on faith.
Oh. But J*'s Honda runs. Always. Like a top.
Manna from Heaven arrived in the form of an old cast-off van from a friend, something that I believes runs, should anyway, and may just help us during my time of infirmary.
But this isn't what I wanted to write about. I wanted to write about my lack of bush-hogging this year.
I've been trying to spend as little time as possible on the tractor (and must, now that it has a flat tire.) That has precluded bush-hogging and other general maintenence. The meadow is all grown up, first time it had been in years, and I kind of like it. The grass has all gone to seed now, and the tassles sway and rock in the breeze. There's a wildness to it all the appeals to me, and I'd keep it that way if only I didn't know that it would slow me down in the future, and eventually all go to brambles and honey locust.
The birds are loving it, as are the bunnies and the box turtles, but, alas, it has to be cut down, eventually, and thus there will be carnage. Generally, I keep it cut on a fairly regular basis, and the little animals know what to expect. This year, I'm just teasing them, lulling them into a false sense of home and hearth, only to go in after they've taken up residence and destroy their world unmercilessly. I think about that, too, when I watch the pretty grain tassles sway in the wind. Kind of takes the scenic quality out of it.
In the interim, I watch the colors - grass isn't just one color, it's lots of colors! - especially toward evening, when the sun is just over the mountain, and shines across the farm from a low angle, and makes everuthing all soft and warm.