last summer drop

The moment before dusk, the sun is still shining in the hills before me. The calendar says it’s autumn, but I can still feel summer hovering with one last deep breath.

This moment seems to sprinkle magic on the tips of wheat as it blows in the field. It’s such a fleeting moment.  I always feel the need to document it, but no picture ever compares. It’s in my heart for safe-keeping. These are the images of dreams. This is the field of gold.