It was cold on Hagga's hill, and fresh with furrows where the dragging points of stars
had plowed the fields. A peasant in a purple smock stalked the smoking furrows, sowing
seeds. There was a smell, the Golux thought, a little like Forever in the air, but mixed
with something faint and less enduring, ...
Fascinating prompt! I've never read Thurber. Love all the different variations, each has its merit...