She gets up before the sun rises.
While many are still asleep, she can already smell the damp earth and the cool morning breeze.
Her marked hands tell stories of work, of rain and sun, of good days and hard ones.
She doesn’t wear a fancy uniform nor work in an air-conditioned office.
But it is from her hands that the food on our tables comes.
And yet, few look at her, few greet her.
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