Every morning and every evening I gaze at these fields, always wondering how much longer I will get to see them like this. How many more harvests will I get to be witness to? And the weird thing is, I don't wonder if it's me who will be the one to change, but rather if it will be the fields that will change. Are they going to get eaten up in a development some day, a distant memory? Is there going to come a day when there's no trace of them left? Maybe it's the nostalgic side of me that comes out when I'm standing there in the mornings, but there's some sense of safety, some sense of "rightness." I look out over the fields and a small part of my heart whispers, "This is right, this is good, and this is where you belong." Because this is home and it's what I know. But maybe safety is an illusion... (And yes, this is a picture taken with Instagram, because ladies and gentleman, I have finally entered the 21st century and bought a smartphone. Don't get me started.)
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