Windshield and passenger window on Dalhousie Mills and Dalhousie Station.

The sun bites at the tips of corn ears stretching across endless fields. The leafy trees contort, the Ontario summer’s overheated pavement scrapes the tires beneath the cabin that threads itself along the land, decoded by my gaze. Everything clings and fuses, like a phytogenetic alchemy. The country’s heart pumps through the sinusoidal arteries of roadside edges and casts oblique glances into the angle shaped by the azure over the heap of late-summer vegetative remnants. The circular hay bales demand the talent of a Van Gogh to portray them. All of it blends into a ribbon of seasonal memory, just days before autumn begins, like armfuls of washerwomen, in the crucible of a whole land.