Green as far as the eye can see.
Green trees, green weeds and acres of farmer’s crop that edge the sprawl of lawn. The summer wind so free in the sky touches the land and becomes a snake. It writhes and twists in rhythmic waves across the fields, a dangerous riptide of currents and green crests in its wake. A quick turn, crouched down and lazy, the summer wind plays at hunting. The wind has warm hands that slide round my legs and lift my dress. The wind has hands that smooth my shoulders and linger in my hair. The wind has lips that kiss me quick before it swims away.