When the heat softens and the fields turn golden, everything seems to slow. The days no longer rush forward; they breathe. The air carries a sweetness — of ripened fruit, of dust and sun, of things that have lived fully and are now ready to rest.
Here, I once learned how to dream.
To watch the sky change its color, to listen to the world’s small sounds —
the chickens, the bees, the whispering of leaves after the summer rain.