A cold north wind catches my ear and whispers “The long night is coming”. The sting of old man winter’s icy breath burns my exposed skin as I kneel slightly to find my subject. A simple frond of foxtail grass growing near the road. The interesting texture and graceful arc of the seedhead in the failing light was irresistible. I’m always taken back to my paternal Grandmother’s house where these grew on the edge of the yard just beyond the apple trees. Perhaps I idealize things in distant memory but I remember them as being back-lit by the evening sun. I also remember the way they tickled in late summer when they brushed against bare legs. Its odd the way you think that you’ve forgotten a specific moment in your life until someone random object unlocks the past. However, there’s no risk of bare legs being tickled today. As the wind settled for a moment I found my moment and snapped the shutter.
Good night friends and be blessed throughout your days
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