EPIDOR

The ripe wheat swayed yesterday in the summer breeze. The blond sheaves now lie scattered on the ground and the labourers have filled their jute sacks with the golden grain. The village girls lay down their sickles, and in the shady copes, quench their thirst in the stream. They'll dance tonight to celebrate harvest's end. While darkness descends upon the fields, they close their eyes for a moment, giving way to their dreams.