From the moment I step outside the fields stretch out before me, one after another connected by dirt roads that the farmers use, and the canal banks. My feet have pounded around a few of them these last several days. Early morning, mid afternoon and at sunset. The familiar view awakens days gone by, the seeds of those moments past grow before me in the open fields.
Open space. Horizons. Plowed fields longing for rain. Barns. Pheasants, cattails and the sun on my back.
The veins, the Glenn county canals flow between the fields. They appear constant, deep, reassuring that there isn't a drought. But the dry landscape, the occassional green trim that only graces the borderlines of the canals speak differently then the rush of water flowing beside them.
My dusty shoes with the soles covered with puncturevine tag along. Where is the rain? Where is the chill that is Autumn? The season's unusual face taunts me, where am I? Is this the same place I have known for years? It looks the same. Will it remain the same? Does anything remain the same... I walk along the canals letting my thoughts connected, disconnected, silent and otherwise flow. That is one of the best things about walking is letting ones thoughts flutter like seeds into the empty spaces without trying to hold on to them.
Breathing in home.
Letting the golden leaves crown the day.
Thankful that this simplicity, this rural area of rice, corn, walnut, cows, motorcycles, Portuguese donuts, pomegrante jelly and plowed autumn fields can hold all that I have and known as bountiful.
