The morning light lingered softly over the vegetable rows, stretching golden fingers across the damp earth. Ten farm ladies gathered in a loose circle, their hats tilted like sleepy sunflowers. Today wasn’t just another day of planting. There was a teacher among them — a Black woman in a burgundy long-sleeve top, pink slim-fit pants, purple heels pressed boldly into the dirt, and a gold crown resting on her straight black hair with bangs.
She looked both regal and completely at home, like the soil had been expecting her.
“Alright, ladies,” she said, her voice kind and steady. “Let’s plant something beautiful.”
The women knelt together, gloved hands gently pressing seedlings into the soil. The teacher showed them how to space the plants, how to tuck them in like tiny sleeping children. Their laughter warmed the air; the field seemed brighter for it.
And then — a moment of stillness.
A muffled thud beneath the ground.
A vibration, small but certain.
Two ladies frowned, glanced at each other.
“Did you feel that…?”
The teacher paused mid-step. The breeze seemed to hold its breath. Somewhere deep below, something ancient shifted in its bed of time.
