In the late-autumn early afternoon, looking southwest, someplace between Bataji and Brkač, there always beckon several patches of bright green. Whatever grows there, it is magical. It is thrilling. The refracted light is mesmerizing. Most of the Mirna valley is dark-green, pale-yellow, ochre, and brown, but these few fields are glowing green. Burning green. Nay, scorching green. The very green of life. But the effect is only heightened by the harsh geometry of these lucky fields. Although hugging the soft hill, they are rectangular and sharp. They are contrived. Yes, they are outright fake. Whence their inebriating beauty, I cannot but suspect.

Addendum (January 27, 2004)

Today I noticed something peculiar about these very same fields: when they were sprinkled with snow, they turned out to be the whitest among fields. Against the dark and gloomy background, they were scorching white. Once again, and for the same reason, the fields blessed by the harshest geometry commanded most attention.