Tracings of fields parted and pulled back. A pathway to wander. My hand does the same to my hair. Softly alluding to the curls. Flowers might occur in that field or a ribboned barrette to blow open. The wind becomes entwined in both. A discourse catching streams of light. Golden brown sits on top of the earth aroused. Twenty thousand waves approach the fragrance of this place. The entire field becomes an expression of rapture. Twinkling lights arising as the wind catches their shapes into a newly created form. Rain on me, she sighs. Copyright © Susy Kamber Nils Frahm - Ambre https://youtu.be/h2I49P19vTY?si=8ohN_-SbJmXnZJ4Y