I keep dreaming the field got paved

I'm walking the back field, the one I've turned a hundred times, and the soil is gone — just asphalt, smooth and still warm from some unseen sun. The rows are painted on, white lines where the lettuces should be, and I'm trying to remember if I'm supposed to harvest them anyway. The weird part is how quiet it is. No wind in the leaves because there are no leaves, just the sound of my boots on the tar, and I wake up with that sound still in my ears.