Summer evenings have been exceptionally sweet this year.  The temperature drops, dinner dishes are abandoned long enough for a few more passes of the football or jumps off the bike ramp. The sun, dropping slowly into the mountains, eases in intensity and instead of washing everything out, it bathes the countryside in gentle golden light.  The pull is irresistible. The dirt road beckons me and I walk and walk, no car in sight.

 It is me and the wild sunflowers towering overhead along the roadsides and fences.  They are not beautiful, as flowers go, but they are strong. 

They are not daunted by prairie winds, nor hail, nor drought. They are briefly beaten down with the roadside mower when they threaten to overtake the road, only to return again to journey east to west daily in pursuit of the sun.

I don't walk as far as I used to these days. I am hoping to build up my strength again. Still, long or short, these walks are stolen moments of quiet reflection.  They are over all too soon.

Our pasture approaches and a half dozen or more laughing voices and barking dogs meet me at the drive. 

We linger outside in the dusky darkness for a few moments longer and
then drop into bed with that very satisfying fatigue which only comes
after time outside.  It is good to be home.