Mist-strewn landscape. One man stoopeth, tending fruitful earth. Here be food aplenty, aye, even for the harshest of Winters. He shivers. Two children, barefoot, pull up root vegetables.
These shall concoct many a broth, saieth one.
If thou canst but contain thine greed! the other saieth, gaily.
The man's neighbour ceases toil and calls unto him: Thy potions provide valorous harvest! Praise thee!
He replyes thus: Praise the Lord, not I. 'Tis God provideth!
Aye, Brother Farmer, God provideth. But 'tis well we hast thy potions, for doth the Lord God not help those who help themselves?
D.M. almost 5 years ago
Interesting step into the past.