There’s a certain smell to a late-summer Midwest evening; it stirs up from under your feet when you walk along the fields. Humidity radiates off of the corn with the residual heat of the day. Cicadas scream at you from the maple trees, making sure you know they have accomplished the Very Great Feat of bursting out of their crispy brown shells. Frogs chirp between the cattails as pink clouds fade into a navy blue sky. Fireflies and stars gently blink their way into being, joining the symphony of distant horses neighing, highways and byways whining with 18 wheelers, and trains singing their siren song. If ever there is a time to live in the moment, it is this.
Angela At-Large 