MISSING THE FARM

I miss the farm.

Where I am now, the computer monitor  lights blind me constantly.  I have to blink repeatedly  to see what I am reading or writing about.
The supposedly expensive seat begins to feel so flat and hard in one's bottom, as I weigh on options choosing words to write. The bamboo slatted seats of the housefarm may be so primitive, but natural seems better really.
Even the cold airconditioner blowing on my face does not provide comfort, it seems to magnify my loss for words to describe how I feel wanting to be in the farm right now. The breeze blowing on one's face in the farm provides for a soothing balm that seems to lift the warm perspiration on the skin. No way the aircon with its mechanical blowers can compete with that.
The wonderful meriendas my wife serves me here may be really delicious and the drinks refreshing, but somehow I begin to long and pine for the  crystalline  juice from a newly harvested, cut-in-the-middle coconut, green and fresh from the tree, and its soft coconut flesh inside white as snow, tasting so suculently sweet.
The windows next to me provides me with cool  winds here, but it is obviously the polluted kind, not the one I cherish at the verdant farm.
I crane my neck to listen if there are chickens roosting and crowing about here, but there are none.
I look out at the windows to see if there are crows circling about ready to dive for and catch the chicks running about at the grounds. No, there are none here where I sit.

I am missing the farm indeed!