Today the corn is new, no higher than my knee, and at this height it has a special color: luminous green under the overcast sky. The clouds are thick and dark, like a stew. For some, this place might seem always the same: the corn growing, the looming mountain, the lone trees far off across the fields still and silent, punctuating the view. But for me there is always something to see.
Across the fields I see clouds of red-wing blackbirds tumbling over the new growth, and their cries echo, traveling far over this flat landscape: the “chack-chack” of their short flight call, the “ockaleeeee” of their annunciatory mating song from time to time interrupting the air. Puddles from yesterday’s rain have made an obstacle course of my usual dirt road to the river.
– Read the essay at The Common Online