When I was a little girl, I would run to the wheat fields with my sun-bleached hair dancing in the wind…I would get into the middle of the field, lay down and just listen to the wheat whispering secrets to the wind…I would lay there trying to solve every mystery and guess what was the topic of the conversation…Than, after a while, unable to solve anything, I would get up and search for a blemish of color in the middle of the field – corn flowers and poppy flowers. Corn flowers would be so blue that it almost seemed like a piece of the summer sky just broke off and fell right in the middle of the wheat field. And bursting-red poppy flowers seem like little fires that I used to set on the beach by the river…I would walk to the flowers, very carefully, trying not to damage any wheat plants that were tickling my legs as I walked by…I could not resist the temptation of blue and red, that summer feel, look and smell of the flowers, that happiness that I felt when I noticed them in the middle of the golden-yellow field…Serenity…Happiness…Tranquility…I wanted to become that summer breeze that gets trapped in the wheat, that breeze that moves every so slightly creating an illusion of little fire tongues dancing in the wind when you look at the poppy flowers…