Like a dream it begins, a new summer night. Just like the others, but still anew. I hear you humming a song next to me. I song that I can’t quite catch. A warm tune that could make any place feel like home. We are keeping still, still as the crops tenderly swaying, in the light night.
Even the smallest of all the words seems too much in this night where everything grows in meaning. Our path is never-ending. It keeps circling and winding by the riverside, through the meadows and around the fields. Wheat, rye, barley, oat. Boat, house, pier, barn. Bird, wasp, spider, ant. The sound of gravel under our feet, and it is all said without a word. And then the first ray of morning.
If I ever lost my passion, I could find it right here in these fields. I would just have to wait for the breeze to bring it to me. I would let the wind whisper me soothing words, echoes of past and promises of yet to come. And I would be waiting for you to hear it too.