The sun hangs orange in a hazy sky. It would be dark at home by now, but time zones are a funny thing; being farther south but more importantly farther west means more questions about going to bed when it’s still light out in the summertime.
There are two women in long pastel-colored dresses eating ice cream, because today is a day of rest. Their heads are covered by bonnets. They must have driven here. The rules are a little bit fuzzy.
The speed limits on these roads seem more like a dare to anyone not used to the hairpin curves and blind hills that wind through cornfields. An SUV blows by like a race car at the tail end of a passing zone. Later in the summer, the corn will be higher and maybe the risk of deer higher too, but the driver either knows something about the tendencies of the local wildlife or is willing to take the risk.
Three women on bicycles ride up a relatively mild incline on the undulating road. The peloton wears long pastel dresses and bonnets, but battery-powered taillights flash red. The rules are a little bit fuzzy.
Further along, children congregate in groups on the road, oblivious or uncaring about the occasional cars blowing by; either they know something about the tendencies of the local English or they’re willing to take the risk. A raucous game of volleyball continues next to a farmhouse made slightly conspicuous to the trained eye by the lack of power lines. The evening air is mercifully cool for all the covered skin.
At the crest of another hill, even the road falls away, and there are only cornstalks and sky stretching to the horizon. The world falls away too. It’s out there, somewhere, but here, it’s easy to forget.
