10.29.2001 - 2:40 p.m.

I keep meaning to describe this field I pass every morning. It's a corn field, already been harvested. That early in the morning, the stubble is this amazing misty-brittle gold color, if that translates at all to a mental image. The stubble by the road, though, is black. Because it's not really corn- it's the heads and necks of several hundred canada geese. Maybe even a thousand. I never really get the chance to count.

-stonebridge

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