The gentle breeze through the field of wheat, makes the sheaths sway in waves of gold. The bright sunlight throws in to sharp contrast the, dark clouds of the on coming storm.

A man walks through one of the narrow tracks left by the machines that tilled the soil and planted the seeds. He moves with a regular steady stride, a man with purpose, moving towards a destination. His eyes are fixed, unblinking on the horizon, on what lays beyond it.

He is not the only one, meters behind him, a woman moves to the same rhythm the man does. To his left and right, again in the lanes in the weat left by the cultivation of the field, more people move to the same beat.

10’s of people, lined up all heading somewhere with the same total focus of purpus.

An army of people, but no armed force ever moved so perfectly in union or was drawn from such wide variety of people, men, women and children all move together. They ware no common uniform, there is as much variation in clothing as there is in the people.

Yet they all move as one.

The first man comes to the end of the lane the wheat, beyond this the stalks of the plants have been neatly flattened in to a huge circalr clearing. The wheat is laid all in the same direction giving the impression of concentric rings.

Now the man changes heading, he turns to face the very centre of the circle. As the others emerge they do the same, turning to face their destination, the open hatch’s of large shiny sourecer shaped thing, waiting for it’s cargo, it’s crew or something else?

The rows of people march on towards it.