65I walked a one-lane paved road. Vivid green cornstalks filled the fields on both sides. The rough leaves rasped against one another in the mild breeze.
The late afternoon sun warmed my scalp and arms. The sun-soaked pavement toasted my toes through the thin soles of my pumps.
I smelled ripe peaches and hot blacktop.
I was in the middle of a hundred-acre farm midway between my home in Chantilly and Dawna’s in Centreville.
The farmers sold home-grown fruit, vegetables, and potted plants to visitors. Closer to Halloween, they also offered hay rides through the spooky post-harvest corn and pumpkin patches.
On this July afternoon, only Dawna and I hiked the hay-wagon road.
We strolled through the bucolic setting, two acquaintances who chanced to meet while fondling fresh peaches.
Six f
