Standing in the parking lot, I shot across the top of the mustard which fringes the field, cleared of last year's corn and probably ready to receive soybeans. The bright mustard is no more than weeds to the farmer but it is a breathtaking display for a couple of walkers.
It will be gone soon, sprayed with herbicide or else cut down with the plow as the crops are planted. But for these glorious moments of late spring, the brow of the field was resplendent with sunny yellow, both above and below.
We walk in magical times, these seasons, each ready to present to us a view that no other can mimic. This is spring, not summer, and the view can be had no other day. We have one chance and one chance only. Tomorrow will not be the same.
