On a summer evening in the plain, the sun sets on the horizon like a molten golden ball, casting its last rays on the tall grass. The warm breeze carries the smell of damp earth and wildflowers, a smell that seems to bring back memories of all the past summers. The crickets have begun their song, a deep, monotonous sound that is accompanied by the fluttering of yellow butterflies. The sky turns burnt orange and small clouds, like lost wool, drift slowly. In the distance, a flock of white sheep rest in the shade of a single oak tree, their bells ringing like a soft whisper in the air. Everything is slow, heavy, and sweet; It's as if time has lost itself in the heat of the air, and all that remains is the smell of hay and the sound of nature telling you, "Stay here, it's not over yet."
