[NetBehaviour] Barley or wheat

Simon Mclennan mclennanfilm at gmail.com
Tue Mar 7 21:16:41 CET 2023

This is the window with the drawing.

... yes, unparalleled victims in the experiment of AI and social
contagion... What is all this?  He cried, as he thrashed about in the thigh
deep barley field. I never know where you are hiding my sweet jitterbug.
Bron stood atop the stile, legs gripping the top rung, she snatched her hat
off her own head and threw it unceremoniously into the air and shouted
across the sloping field at L. who was at least a hundred yards distant.
Standing by the scarecrow he looked over to where B. stood waving, then
started towards her trying not to flatten the green/yellow crop as he
parted the nearly ripe ears of fat barley.  Two fields away in the haze of
an ardent and robust late summer, whose dropping pearls cascaded down
through lilac and Robin's egg blue  skies, a red harvester chewed its way
through a swath of ripe wheat, the driver and farm labourers in denim blue
and dusty green and brown shirts sweated in the penultimate month of the
season, ready to stroll into kitchens where cold beer stood on sideboards
and piles of kittens mewed in baskets in corners.
Bron threw a slim apple core picked down to almost a thread, it landed in
the hedge lodging between nettles and aspen twigs, meanwhile scaring, quite
badly, a small field vole who had been meditating as he cleaned his
whiskers, gorgeous grey coat and tail.  He picked up his tail, looked
deprecatingly at the strangely clad woman on the stile, and legged it down
the hedge to his family who were preparing a supper of daisy and marigold
soup with tinned filleted anchovies in oil.  The cosy nest smelled inviting.

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