‚ÄčThese were taken on Friday a few miles from where I grew up. It was dusk, when the sky is still clear blue and the shadows lay interesting patterns across the fields. Mere minutes later true twilight falls, and the world is not quite dark, yet not still light. Then the sky often turns so deep a purple it’s almost black. Crickets chirp, frogs croak in dying ponds, and small animals rustle leaves in low lying brush. 

This is my favorite view from this area. Right below the sun, a few miles away sits the farm where I grew up. I can stand there and look away toward the place that is the home of my heart. It’s a fascinating kind of landscape. Just beyond the back fencerow, if you enlarge the image you can see a small bright green spot. On close examination, it becomes a crop covered steep hill. The general area is like that all over. Very flat land, rubbing shoulders with surprisingly steep hills. Far from being mountains, these hills still add texture and beauty to what might otherwise be bland flatlands.

Sweeping curves of shorn wheatfields hug the lay of the land like a low flying helicopter navigates the nap of the earth. Though more beautiful when fully ripe and waving in a breeze, sometimes scattered with purple blooming vetch just as green turns to gold, the stubble left behind by harvest boasts its own rustic charm.

The light of the lowering sun diffuses among the leaves of wooded areas to render the scene into a paintinglike image.

While that same light throws geometric patterns across the rolling field.

The entire vista looks as if it’s viewed from the porch of a rustic home in the country. It would be easy to imagine I’ve been visiting relatives to enjoy this beautiful, peaceful, and quiet place that invites thought and memory. That’s actually very true, though not in the way I’ve described. While there is no porch, this is a place to be near my family. These photographs are of the views from the edge of the cemetery where my parents are buried. Grandparents, uncles, aunts, and cousins are all gathered there, where when the wind blows just right particles of rich soil from the farm we all loved fly across the creek and fields and bird-sheltering trees to bring a little bit of home to the place that now shelters them all.

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