September 1st – At home farm, I smelt the fresh earth before I saw it; I’d now that scent anywhere. The farmer has wasted now time, and ploughing and harrowing was in full swing. Presumably, there’s another crop to go in here now – maybe potatoes or a vegetable of some sort. The golden hues of late summer will soon all be fresh and brown like this, part of time’s passage. Lovely, but sad at the same time.

Author: BrownhillsBob

I told the truth - but told it bent. Wandering around bemused and ranty since 2007. View all posts by BrownhillsBob