"In Xanadu did Kubla Khan a stately pleasure-dome decree: where Alph, the sacred river, ran through caverns measureless to man, down to a sunless sea." No wonder we got up early this morning and drove two hours west through rolling fields of pale dried corn and lush green winter wheat, the Black Angus feeding on hillsides in the middle distance, the steely farm ponds nestled in below, the flocks of crows circling overhead in the bright blue sky, scattered with mauve and white clouds. The clouds and the crows and the ponds and the cattle and the corn were still there on the way home, and so were the hillsides of evergreens and the browning oaks and the red-berried hawthorns -- but looking it seemed just then, like fields of chrysanthemums. Maybe it was that we were heading east and the sun was at our back. Or that we were tired and the light was playing tricks with our eyes. But somehow I don't think so.
Carl H. Klaus, My Vegetable Love: A Journal of a Growing Season
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