The Internovella continued -

He sat and thought, his head bowed by life and the pain of harvesting success and failure, the life in him, but also running away from him. August now, a strange month, sure was; 'cos he had been born on the 2nd - full of thunder and sunshine heat and tears - a time for picking fruit and digging up vegetables - but not yet time for harvesting the wheat.

He had to move fast, choices to make, but he was a reflective soul, some said lazy, who seized the moment or let it drift away - usually the latter. But he had made his decision that day, and, by golly once his mind is made up no firmament in the stars moves faster. He was going to