Our fields really are beautiful in autumn. The mix of colors, the scent of forest and hay… The sun warms my skin gently, but without the suffocating heat of summer.
The golden wheat contrasts so vividly with the deep blue of the sky — a perfect, familiar combination. I give in to the impulse to walk right into the heart of this beauty, enjoying the soft breeze. My fingers brush through the wheat, it tickles my hand, and I smile.
Everything feels so peaceful, so homely, so dear — except for that sudden smell of burning.
I can’t tell where it’s coming from. I turn around, searching for the source of the acrid smoke. Nothing. Then, in the distance, I spot a figure standing with its back to me.
Grandpa! Oh, how I’ve missed him! There’s so much I want to tell him, so much to ask!
I run tow
