It’s a hot August afternoon and I slipped out to the garden to gather up the ripening tomatoes. The air was heavy with hot silence, all I could hear was the hum of distant traffic, the occasional bellow of a goose, and the sound of the breeze blowing through the garden, tickling my sweat kissed skin. Nothing staged—just me, the sun, and the simple rhythm of harvest. Come spend a little slice of summer with me