In the silence of country roads and the chatter of summer bugs in the trees, there is a stillness that is refreshing. Where the sun is allowed to glow, uninterrupted as it slowly slides behind the trees and beneath the valley. And the air takes a breath, to sit and relish in the quiet as dogs bark in the distance and deer tiptoe wide-eyed through the trees in the woods, crossing faded yellow lines and dark gray asphalt with little ones in tow, skipping lightly as ears turn in all directions.
It’s a place where the ground begins to cool in the evening air and tired feet are welcomed by soft grass and spongy earth. Where brown wood meets green leaves, pleasantly intertwining themselves as if leaning against each other for support. It’s a place where minds can rest and relish also, with the air.
This is where life grows. Where little red tomatoes find a home as they peek and wrestle their way through the leaves, reaching for the sun’s vitamins. Where green stalks tangle themselves together in an embrace as they spread across the ground. Ground that is full of life that it can’t wait to give and share from within its damp brown layers. And the leaves rejoice, spreading their arms towards the sky.
The colors deepen as the light fades into a deep blue hue. The greens are a little darker and the reds have a little more pop. The orange melts into the middle, softening the contrast. Plants have a beautiful way of creating their own course, no matter how the gardner intended them to grow. They turn into crooked lines and bent stalks as they learn to hold themselves up and stand, stubbornly growing in the direction they’d like.
These kinds of places are unassuming and quiet. They don’t show off and they don’t scream for attention. They sit quietly in existence and harbor life, day in and day out. And there is a sweetness there. A sweetness of simplicity and stillness in the cyclical nature that never ceases, even if we try to burden it.