At the Pumpkin Patch

My Mark IV Jetta, YAH, parked at a pumpkin patch across the James river in Surry, VA.
The sky was overcast — it would later spit rain — but my son really enjoyed tromping around the fields, occasionally examining a pumpkin but often more interested in the gestalt of the field. (I quite enjoyed it, too.)

Good memories are imprecise; details fade into the blur of an event.

(Sometimes, one must throw Realism out for Impressionism.)