Holy Tornado

To see the soul of your comrade listen carefully to his music.

Friday, June 16, 2006


Last summer Patty and I took a ride out to Ferndale, which is an old farming town about thirty minutes from my house. I took lots of pictures but this one with the old fence post half rotted away and the overgrown field is special to me.

The sun was shining hot that day and the tall dry grass shimmered golden as the breeze gently bent the tall slender stems, heavy with seed.
The swishing sound of the breeze, the crickets, and an occassional honeybee, searching for pollen, were the only sounds we heard.
This kind of silence is beautiful. It leaves a golden glow in your spirit.
It makes a memory.
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