Twice, this past week, we've taken to the back roads that wander down to the Finger Lakes and I have gotten drunk on the fullness of June. Farmer's fields, bare-breasted and muddy in April and May, are deep rolling carpets of a rich green color. Crops are just ankle high except for the fields of grasses that catch the breezes - Imagine a woman sitting in her bedroom, in early morning or late night, slowly unpinning her waist length hair, falling, like slow waves, down her bare back. We live … [Read more...]