Afield in early July.
A field in early July.
Spikes of colicroot, spires of white, steeple-stipple the green grasses.
Pea family pinkness.
What a beautiful field.
The woods to the Southwest kicks the breeze up and over our heads.
In that wind there is still a little clutch of coolness.
Here in the lee under the wind we are warm.
We are bathed in humid, salty air.
We breathe the scent of roses.