It’s midsummer, Maryland. Out west, where the highways are desolate and the closest shopping center is an hour away, a beige house overlooks an acreage encompassed entirely by generic white picket fences and endless rolling hills. During this time of year the wildflowers grow rampant turning the property into a meadow. An enormous gray and white barn stands alone towards the back, holding five horses and a stockpile of hay. A small stream steadily flows over the hills. Its current bringing fresh water and round, pearl white stones. The wind gently blows across the field, almost like a lost puppy, curious but unsure. By the house, vines ensnare the porch, butterflies amass around the bushes, and bluebirds perch on a lone tree that’s withstood life for hundreds of years. By the fence the bees glide lazily from flower to flower. Crushed azaleas and wildflowers litter the meadow where the dogs love to play. On the other side of the fence, horses graze as if they had not a care in the world and rabbits sunbathe in between the brush. …show more content…
Heatwaves make the distant landscape look bent and distorted. Only the faint wisp of a cloud can be seen. Nothing can be heard but the rustling of the wind between the grass and the bumble bees’ steady, never ending task of collecting pollen. The wind kicks up a vast assortment of fragrances: the sweet, succulent smell of each individual flower; the earthy scent of the untamed grass; the scent of a freshly baked apple pie; a faint trace of old hay bales. It’s quiet, yet not silent. The sounds of nature replacing the sounds of everyday life: no cars; no generators; no neighbours. Just peace, tranquility, and a sense complete