Yesterday marked the last day of summer in the Netherlands, and I chose to take a long walk along the river. The air carried that typical humid warmth, the temperature rising close to 30 degrees, with only a moderate wind to soften it. Even at five o’clock in the afternoon, the sun still pressed down enough to draw sweat.
Just as I began to feel tired and scorched, the view suddenly shifted. I reached the farmland, a place fewer people tend to wander.
A tranquil little village unfolded before me. The river grew calmer, its waves gently kissing the sandbank, while the soft ringing of cowbells drifted through the air. I sat down at the edge of a cornfield, surrounded by clear blue sky and the light brown-yellow of ripening crops. It was the cheerful, quiet promise of harvest.
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