The sun was warm.
And gentle as it shone on the golden wheat that spread over the land. The wind stirred it, making the ripe wheat sway in the morning air.
"Mum, can the sun be warm?" a boy of about nine asked. He held one of the chaff in his hand as he stared at the hard work of his family.
The mum smiled. Her face was tired from waking up early to cook for the family of three and their workers, but still, her smile was radiant. But one thing that stood out above all is the red eyes of hers. "Of course. It can be as warm as butter, but you must remember, it can also be as harsh as a whip."
They stood in front of their farmhouse, in the middle of the golden field that was their farm. Scattered around the field are workers, bent over with their reapers, reaping their harvest.
