The Faces of Grasses
All the grasses in my valley are flowering, rising high in the peak of summer; soft white, green, and yellow blowing in the wind. These fields fill my corridor home, 125 kilometers of narrow riverland between north and south mountains. I can never forget where I'm going, there are always hillsides on the horizon as reminders of direction. There's a lot of east/west driving, many parallel highways all serving as alternatives to each other – and in between, the farmer's fields. Many grown over, some for cattle, some for hay, and a crop here and there. It's just finished raining, and the grey clouds are lightening and parting. Every blade of grass holds a thousand drops of dew, and I'm soaked to the knees. I climbed ten feet up, left my muddy footprints on a stack of plastic-wrapped bales, and this was my view to an Annapolis Valley afternoon.

July 13, 2017
Clarence, Nova Scotia