In the dusty corn fields of the Great Plain you can see from time to time some redish roofs that rise above and above in order to signal you the presence of a human settlement.Lonely and with no real connection to the real world , the little corn filed villages run thier daily life in a undistrubed routine that seems never-ending.
Highways ignore them , people looking for some fun do the same , it seems they are not able or not willing to give up their centuries old practices for a more modern life style.
The little home have a plain and flat shape , nothing that could ever make them likeable in any way . The horrible image of flatness and lack of style is broken by the towers of the white wallachian style church that rises above the roofs of town houses , the whiteness together with the shine of the metal roof radiate light through the dusty corner of the village.
Moving our eyes from the village center , we go to the field that is all around , the picture is animated by the sound of the tractor engines and the rusty trailers that they carry around. Having a funny but progressive work style , the people from the corn fields have a remarcable knowledge of the soild and of the land their standing on.
Only one who knows all of this can be successful when it comes to turning a empty land in to a agricultural heaven .
From time to time the little village from the corn field is awaken by a celebration , a worship or anything of that nature.
Curious people run hurried to the village center where the church hoasts a one of a kind event in the life of the typical wallachian peasent : the wedding.
A wedding , a ceremony or a ritual , even a grand show as others would tell , meant to impress , to shock , to impress again and to make one fit in to the lines that his community created and is not willing to break.
The bride wears a queenly shaped dress , a true royal of the wallachian corn filed , ingaging in the traditional dance along with her guests in the church on a indecently hot day of late august . Nobody has a problem when it comes to having a little fun and breaking the unnatural silence that covers the village for most of the time .
As fall is taking control over the vast fields of Eastern Wallachia , the sun flowers start slowly to touch the ground , giving their farwell kiss to the soil that feed them during the summer season before they die , leaving the fields empty playgrounds for the harsh winds that will soon come on this land.The fields turn their greenish shade for a rusty one , dark lights fill the skies , foretelling the harsh winter that is about to come .
The little villages from the now empty fields seem more inroverted then ever , smoke from the chimneys fill the air with a welcoming smell .
Not even the tractors don't do their regular job , they are put to rest in the garage , not to be distrubed until spring comes. The life of the little corn field village and its people is one dominated by very few colors ,not being a ideal for anybody but holding a big concentration of authenticity in its own way.
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