The lane was clear and unassuming. There was nothing notable about it. More a passthrough than a place anyone would stop. It connected several farms, with public footpaths shooting off into different directions, highlighted by signs of a walking man icon printed upon green arrows screwed into metal posts. One such footpath led to a field. And in that field were tall and countless rows of corn. They would be ready to harvest soon. But until then, the plants danced happily – their ample green leaves enjoying the late summer sun, some waving their tassels and silks and others wriggling their ears. They had grown so tall, their keeper observing them proudly like a kindly mother over her children. She wore a fine straw hat with a slightly worn red bow. It had seen better days, but she liked it anyway.

Her name was Sally. That’s what the children had called her. And she had been watching over the field for fifteen years. She had short golden hair, big black eyes, and a big toothy smile on her face. She wore a tattered white shirt – apparently one of the farmer’s old ones – and when she had been created, the children insisted upon giving her a bright red skirt to match the bow on her hat.
“But it should be a boy!” yelled the boisterous brown-haired girl, stamping her foot into the earth next to where Sally stood.
“But they’re all boys. Ours should be a girl!” screamed back the younger sister with equal defiance.
They both looked up at Sally. Placating herself, the older sister nodded curtly and, climbing a stepladder, she pulled out the black pen, drawing thick lashes all the way around Sally’s eyes so that each looked like giant spidery flowers. The younger sister clambered atop an empty crate and ran a thick piece of rope around Sally’s waist, securing the ragged red material. After she was done, she gave Sally a big hug.

And so Sally had stood, watching the turn of seasons and tending the corn fields, her arms outstretched. Every day for many a year, the youngest of the two girls would spend an hour talking to her. As a young girl she would tell Sally about imaginary lands, castles, dragons, and the evil rat foe, Duke Ratty McRatface, who had been pillaging neighbouring farm’s crops. As she grew, she would confide about family disputes, about her studies, and about how she planned to leave for the city. Eventually that day came – the adolescent girl placed her hand to her lips, kissed it and reached up to Sally’s cheek in farewell. Had Sally been able to cry, she would have.

These days, she was occasionally visited by a couple of crows. Being a scarecrow, it was supposed to be her job to frighten them, but they never seemed to be troubled by her. Instead, they’d bring news from the other farms, telling her about how Scarecrow John had been fairing after being struck in the storm a few months ago, how Farmer Tom’s son was all grown up and had taken a job in the city, much to his father’s chagrin. They told her how they’d overheard her own farmer – Farmer Joe – saying that Elizabeth would be returning in the fall to get married on the farm. Little Elizabeth! To be married! Sally remembered that first day when the little girl fastened the red skirt to her waist. She yearned to see her dearest friend whose absence had created an emptiness within her.

When the day of the wedding came, Sally was desperate to catch a glimpse of Elizabeth. She could hear joyful cheering in the distance, music, screams of laughter, and even glimpses of wedding guests manoeuvring about the outhouses, getting lost around the farm. But at no point could she spot her dear friend. Finally, the night had firmly set in. There appeared to be a final cheer and the eruption of car motors as guests began to leave.

Sally was morose, alone in the dark field. Her dear friend had forgotten her. She tried to settle her thoughts when she heard a bright voice ring from beside the barn,
“Wait for me inside. I’ll be back.”
By the shadow of the barn’s warm decorative lights, Sally saw a young woman in a puffy-sleeved white dress enter the field. She traipsed towards the tattered scarecrow. It was Little Elizabeth.
“Sally!” she called, embracing her friend before showing her the plain golden ring set next to the diamond. Without a care for her beautiful attire, Elizabeth sat next to Sally, recounting her life in the city, of meeting her husband, of the engagement, and of the wedding day festivities. It seemed, after all, that their friendship had endured as the scarecrow and young lady enjoyed the sweet night air.