A few years ago I found myself on a train in France, on my way to Chartres. I knew nothing of where I was headed. I brought a little reading with me to get familiar and have something to connect with when I arrived. One of the passages I read mentioned fields of gold and the uneven spired cathedral sitting off in the sun, a beacon for all those in need. I did a few little drawings on the train, expecting that time would have erased all notions of the quaint village I was learning about. The fields were gone, at least right in front of the cathedral, but the temple stood high above the village and called out to everyone who could see.
The Summer Fields
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