A patch work quilt covers the ground up to the ghosting tree line. Some squares are a crumbly brown like chocolate that’s aged and dried in the sun. Others are golden wheat that jive and swing musically with the wind. The vivid green made by rich soil and enough water litter the rest in the form of grasses, weeds, or systematically placed plants. Everything is sewn up using green and lavender thread, the latter of which bursts here and there surprising the viewer into a unintended smile. The fruit of dreams hangs from trees warmly inviting all to their inevitable demise. The lullaby of honey bees and the cooing bird accompany the many in their afternoon kip and less than melodious snores. It’s so different than the Imodium green sea banks of Bombay or the impossibly tall mountains where anything under 5,000 m isn’t worth naming.
This place is a hand beckoning you in and holding yours. Friendship is the word used for love between two humans, but what word should be used between this relationship between human and Earth?