Just a hundred yards from my front porch,
the grain silo rises — tall, white, and still —
catching the hush of dawn in its steel embrace.
This morning, I watched a lone farmer roll by,
his truck heavy with harvest,
headed toward the scales beneath a sky not yet awake.

It’s a quiet testament to the spirit of the land —
that tireless "up with the chickens" grit,
where honest work begins before the sun,
and ends only when the day is spent.

Light and shadow dance across rust and dust,
etching stories into the metal and soil,
echoes of effort, of perseverance.
This scene, this moment,
is more than a picture —
it’s a hymn to the heartbeat of the Midwest,
and the enduring soul of American labor.

Christopher Smith