The morning was clear and solitaire. Mist formed around a drinking ditch to the left of the circular flowers that surrounded the large farm. The early sunshine of morning marked a busy day for Walter. The Blossoms of spring were just beginning to show as Walter rolled down the road on the rusted, but always reliable farm tractor. As the field grew closer, Walter glimpsed his son running from the nearby bushes to meet him. As he drew closer, Walter realized his son had a small orange cat in his arms. Walter did not seem to care as he used the tractor to plow the field to ready it for planting. The sun beat heavily down upon Walter's head as he drove the tractor along the rows. Frederick, Walter's son seemed to be caught in a daze. The dreamlit field where he had played was now an obstacle course as he dodged this way and that trying to garner the thrust and speed to race time itself. All was lost in the eyes of the boy, who had seemed to burst forth from his usual self. He was not frightened by the waisted state of being he had now entered, however, and welcomed the relief from the unchanging day to day routine he had been used to treading. He had now become entranced in the neverending rows of the field. It was as if a fallen star had blasted through his body. Everything seemed to be a blur. Wondering to himself if the dreamlike realm which he had now entered would last, all life seemed to stop and suddenly the virtual was replaced with the real as Frederick rose from the dream-like trance to hear his fathers deep english accent resound through his ears.