Long summer days give way to evenings with golden hues coating wheat, grass or grains blowing in the wind. Long shadows stretch thirty times one’s height across the land. This is the magic of Maine, just before the sun says goodnight. Tree frogs chirp serenades welcoming the night, while birds dart back and forth scooping up insects with delight.
Such was the evening I took a walk through the fields out back. Something scampered in the bushes and I felt my adrenaline rush, just Mr. Beaver collecting his dinner. We starred at each other, neither blinked. Not wanting to disturb his ambitious gnawing on the birch tree I slowly backed away. A humming bird stopped just feet away and hovered in the air, turned and sped off. I followed not knowing where she’s take me.
After racing over two hills the sun was sinking faster. The bird stopped and danced amongst the wheat. A first I tried to take images of the humming bird. I should have known better. After all, she was just leading me to my destination.
The sun coated the wheat with such golden hues I was awe struck. Then purple hues, with a twinge of green could be seen. The wind whispered across the field like waves on the ocean. Slowly, peacefully I clicked the shutter. I was running out of film so I only managed a few shots.
Once I developed them I was taken by the depth of the wheat and the grass behind. The textures and colors reminded me of the hummingbird. These images were, to me, her spirit.