Excerpt: From a farmer's journal of the island of Pwil near the equator

At the end of the setting sun, when the inner gears of the mind come to a stop, when the beating of the heart then slowly returns to pressing gently against your chest, with the time to focus on ones breathing, to look back and see the ups and downs of the things done and seen under the light, it is easy to get caught up with wanting to set out for the harvest again, to get back to working the ground, to picking up ones equipment, and venture out into the fields again. It is necessary at times, yes, but as the shadows fill up the lands, it is difficult to see, and one may even forget where one had planted the seeds. And what we may end up rooting out of the ground may not be something we would want to keep. Rather, the ground may take you for its own harvest.