Longview Farm
Driving across southern Wisconsin counties the past couple of days has reminded me how beautiful my home is. The quality of the light is different out here. In the morning, just after the sun has risen, everything looks pale and freshly minted. I can see for miles, and the mist over the mint fields is pink-gold and dewy. There are trees in the distance, phthalo blue and green with the atmosphere, rolling like mountains. Even the shadows in the morning are pale and crisp, like spilled tea.
The light in the afternoons is different. It's as though the world blossoms into summer again every day at one o'clock. The greens become deep and rich, so solid I feel as though I could drink the color with my fingertips. Even the cement is bright and shiny, gray and varied as the underbelly of a cloud. The shadows are different too, spread thick and dark like paint on clean streets.
I imagine the sunsets out here are something to admire. I'm sure they turn the corn fields to honey and yellow the leaves of the trees. A miniature autumn every evening. Or so I'd like to imagine - I haven't seen one yet.
The light in the afternoons is different. It's as though the world blossoms into summer again every day at one o'clock. The greens become deep and rich, so solid I feel as though I could drink the color with my fingertips. Even the cement is bright and shiny, gray and varied as the underbelly of a cloud. The shadows are different too, spread thick and dark like paint on clean streets.
I imagine the sunsets out here are something to admire. I'm sure they turn the corn fields to honey and yellow the leaves of the trees. A miniature autumn every evening. Or so I'd like to imagine - I haven't seen one yet.