Her feet have already widened at the ball of the foot, beginning to take the shape of the men who work barefoot or in flipflops all day in the field. Eventually the delicate arch will disappear altogether, an unnecessary frill in a vocation that demands all the square coverage possible to grip this earth, as if she might fall off the face of it. It strikes me as sad or nostalic, though she is smiling. I make a mental note to think about it later when I´m alone in my house. I look forward to having a good cry that will put me into a deep sleep. But later, lying in bed, I try to conjure the feeling back up, and I find I feel nothing at all.