The harvest is coming, the crops have ripened, the sun has shone, the wheat has grown. The breeze blows gently through the field in waves knocking the tops of the wheat over in ripples that move slowly through, sometimes stopping for an instant in front of me, that takes an age, the peace almost solid as if you could touch it. Time can be seen in front of you, smiling back as the evening draws to a close. Smile my friend, as I’m sure you are, we’ll miss you but see you always.
Stoughton, Leics, UK