Sam the Scarecrow lived a pretty good life. He had the sun during the day, the moon most nights, and although the rain would come along and make things wet, he reasoned even he could use a bath from time to time.
Yes, Sam was content.
Spring was filled with birds stopping for a rest on his arms as they flew back from the south. Summers got hot, but his hat gave him plenty enough shade so he didn’t see a reason for complaint.
Fall was his favorite. Farmers would tend their fields and Sam just loved watching them work. It also didn’t hurt that he’d get a nice fresh stuffing of hay and sometimes even a new suit.
But, autumn turned to winter.
And winters were the worst. Alone, Sam would stand sentry in the silent stalks. He’d get so lonely that he’d even crave the company of crows, his resented rivals.
Eventually, though, winter would wane, and Sam would spot the first bloom of spring.
And once a year, on that day, Sam the Scarecrow would smile.
photo provided by Louise with The Storyteller’s Abode.