^_^ May be you can't understand my words, bui i can know yours. That' enough.,for we both love peace.

Yet again...another beautiful piece, and well written too. Here's hoping your week has been great and your weekend even better! ~hugs~
Jamie

Hey Hun Yes I Made it thru the hurricane but lost everything now I am trying to rebuild my life hope all is well with you....my lil one is doing great thanks for asking he's just stubborn like me ...lol.... muahssss see ya around and sry it takes so long to get back to you at times..... :-)

I was going to leave you a comment on this piece, but having read Marge's post, I have nothing else to add but "thanks.'
Jorge

nice....

Doggone, it, Blawg...

I was restless enough; then I had to go and stop by this lovely place, alight on this particular entry and all the restlessness blossomed into full-blown longing...

I'm a writer, too--not of the calibre you posess--but good enough. When we're on the cusp of the seasons, such as late summer edging into autumn, something attaches itself to my pea-brain (initiated, I suspect, by the gradual dwindling of daylight hours...), and suddenly my writing takes on a bittersweet quality. That restlessness sets in. I first started feeling it 'way back in grade school--not yet having settled into the womanly emotions which beset me at this point in life--and I explained it away as the disappointment of summer vacation being over and the school year beginning once again.

Looking back on it all now, I can see in that memory the beginnings of the primal restlessness. Regret over the passing of a season, missed opportunities for...whatever...the realization that time is passing, bringing all of us inexorably closer to the Big Goodbye. I think that, even as a young girl, I had the understanding of how precious the days--and nights--truly are. For whatever reasons, I missed out on a lot of the experiences most people take for granted in their young adulthood, so those experiences take on a greater sense of poignancy for me as, one by one, I experience them now.

I am an Iowa girl--have always been and will, no doubt, always be. The hay fields of which you speak are fragrantly immediate in my life. It is said the human sense of smell is one of the most powerful and that the memory of scent is also one of the most powerful. As I drive past fields of sweet alfalfa, freshly mown, awaiting the haying, every memory of every hay field slams right into my consciousness. The idea of lovers in a hay field is a sweet image. Something most city folks will never appreciate...'til they've been there.

I just wanted to thank you for a beautiful entry, for making me think of lovely things, and for the restlessness...

I've decided it may not be such a bad thing, after all.

Wishing you peace.

Marge