Hey, Bales!

Me: Hay bales!
Jack: Mama, why are you waving at everybody?

Do you know how hard it is to take a good pic of a hay bale on a road trip? I've got a plethora of blurred shots from every state we traversed because I seldom saw them when we weren't driving -- and they were not high on the pull-over-for-this-shot list, I might add.

I don't know why I enjoy them so, but I do. Maybe it's because there is a peaceful, all-done-ness about them. Work is over, time to rest. Symbolic, I guess.

Hay tightly wound, most bales were round.
A few were square -- misnomer, there.
Some with a sheen. Some very green.
Many hay bales these eyes have seen!

Arranged in stacks, arranged in rows,
Or unarranged in random shows.
Much taller than you might suppose,
These bales of hay, who seem to pose.

When I was a very little girl -- two years old -- my mother overheard me say,

Little boy blue come blow your horn.
The sheep's in the meadow; the cow's in the corn.
Where is the boy who looks after the sheep?
He's under the haystack with Bo Peep.

*sigh*

You may return to your own lives now.

~ End Quote