Now the sower returns with his abundant wealth. He parades joyously in a cart drawn by a donkey. The gray coat of his companion whispers the rugged life they have shared. However, today he pulls the cart with a jovial stride. He also senses their fortune.
The sower envisions the faces of his children. He has been away so long from them. He imagines them growing tall like stalks beside their tiny, white house. He pictures the weariness in his wife’s eyes melting away, and her appearing before him vivaciously. Her embrace tugging against his rough body and the liveliness in her dark eyes rising like a night raven in flight.
The trees skip methodically and bow before him in the wind. He is privy to the royal graces bestowed upon kings. Hastily, he whipped the donkey and rode the cart speedily to spread his good news.
When he returned, he did not recognize his home. The house had been devoured by large vines and thickets. Thick, green blades of grass were overrun by an army of dandelions. Mother nature claimed his territory. How long had he been gone? Nearby, the river ran dry; the unquenchable thirst of the sun had drunk up the fresh spring.
Fearfully, he called his wife’s name but she did not answer. He found his daughter swinging from a tree like a yo-yo, and his son steadily perched below like a parachute.
“Where is your mother,” the sower asked but neither child took its gaze from what they were doing. Then, his daughter lifted her finger and the sower traced the little compass to a speck in the horizon. The speck grew and took the shape of a woman. She cradled two jugs of water, which swayed with her hips.
The sower was astonished to find his wife dry like the desert. Her skin was cracked at the foundation like one of those angelic, marble statues antiquated from time. He ran to meet her and took the jugs from her weary fingers. She glared at him like a ravenous animal beholding its prey.