A faint breeze rolls the scent of dry corn around me as I walk. I always wish I had better words, especially in autumn. The scent of dying leaves is familiar to most but the lucky people who get to smell sweet, ripe, dry corn are especially fortunate.
One year our family decided to make all our Christmas gifts. I chose to make wreaths for all the women in the family out of corn husks. I’ll never forget gathering the dried ones that were left behind in the golden field after corn harvest. Wind was gusty out in the middle of the empty corn field as I picked up ruffled husks with the intention to create what I thought would be a thing of rustic beauty to gift my girls. That was a memorable Christmas and some of those wreaths are still around.
The landscape belongs to the person who looks at it. –Ralph Waldo Emerson
Connie Oney Photography 