A field of one’s own motivates engagement with it: tilling, planting, maintaining, harvesting, and simply walking about; it yields, time after time with care; and it inspires with its diversity and fruitfulness, whether a deep crimson-tinged sunset, singing meadowlarks, or contentious quails arguing in a language reminiscent of Star Wars blasters. The blossoms in the first photo will, God willing, morph into nectarines. The horses in the distant field in the second photo are my Cat’s favorite view from his hammock vantage. And the sunset: I have no idea how my camera suddenly released an image of Krypton’s red sun. . . .