Farmsicle

The Mayan sun just laid down along the monkeys backs.  Today it was red.  A red that became the Mayan sun.  It is the vernal equinox's best show of my lifetime.  Spring is here and the jungle didn't notice.  But the Sun fought for its glory day by sight and not temperature.  One shall not grow hungry as the Mayan sun feeds the soil and humans cultivate real art.  Walk across a spice farm to feel like water entering the freezer.  Every molecule slows down as spectacular spectacles of the diligent work grows.  Remarkably it will fit into a undeserving jar when outer space would offer a more appropriate container. Vanilla beans are best kept fresh in a jar of sugar.  Chocolate grows on the side of a tree almost as if to say "fine. here you are. have this." It is so unnatural looking that it could only be that trees gift.  Pepper trees, cinnamon trees, all spice.  You scratch and sniff the bark, chew on the leaves, suck on the pit, drink of their water and delight comes from being in the freezer.

The Mennonites embrace the Mayan sun and are excellent handlers of art.  The eldest boy walks a pregnant horse to be sold to Belcampo.  The land is cleared and pine trees are juxtaposed against foreign vines.  All the children barefootedly hang on their buggy.  Six of them listening to their bearded father, staring at the extremely awkwardly placed thawed car.   Their father speaks frozen forgotten german dialect words, and the land is so peaceful...so faithfully peacefully blissfully painting.