Sunflowers at sunset in Woodland, California [OC] [2400×2400] kathryn_dyer

Sunflowers at sunset in Woodland, California [OC] [2400×2400] kathryn_dyer

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  1. It reminds me of this poetry that mentions sunflowers:

    The heart that has truly loved never forgets
    And as truly loves on to the close
    As the sunflower turns to her god when he sets
    The same look which she turned when he rose

    But are they aimed at the setting sun?

  2. There’s something mysterious and magical about sunsets that always stirs me no matter how many times I’ve seen them. Adding sunflowers into the picture just makes it so much more wonderful to enjoy, thanks OP!

  3. I did 15 days of community service for Yolo county in my youth(dumb mistake) and spent most of the time in Woodland. There are some beautiful photogenic places near there. Great pic 🙂

  4. I can just imagine standing in the middle of the field, looking at the sky while the wind is blowing. This photo simply takes me to that scene and it’s so peaceful.

  5. You know I was thinking this had to be some exotic place in some foreign land that I’d never be able to travel to. But nope, it’s in California.

    Really puts things into perspective.

  6. the composition combined with the coloring of the sky creates such an entrancing and beautiful vibe that the environment is almost surreal. it’s terrifyingly beautiful.

  7. Stunning photo! Very soothing summer sunflowers, absolutely fantastic! Was this taken at sunset or sunrise? I love the sunflower fields in this area, they grow so tall. Thank you for sharing!

  8. Beautiful picture, thanks for sharing. I live in Davis and it is truly gorgeous where we live. My friend who has lived in Woodland for about 70 years calls it Woodpile. I always thought that was a little bit mean (and funny).

  9. I was born in California, although I’d never admit it to my fellow Portlanders. So was my cousin. At 6 months apart, we were the only granddaughters in the family, and we couldn’t be more different. She was bookish and focused, I was outgoing and easily distracted (most of my elementary school years was spent day-dreaming, as expressed in frustratingly-written report cards from my teachers). Once, I went to visit her house, only to find a collection of various stones she had hoarded. I said I wanted to be a rock collector, and she said no, there could be only one, and it was her.

    I spent the next five years collecting rocks, long after she had forgotten the story and lost her collection.

    In the summers, our families would put aside their (many, many, severe) differences and take us to Disneyland–a perk of having family in southern California. On the long, dusty drive from Fairfield to Anaheim, our parents and grandparents would pull out any trick to entertain us and pass the time. Their favorite was the point out the windmills–a feature of California landscape my cousin and I never appreciated until we were adults and ventured back to Disneyland for a nostalgic road trip. We didn’t give a shit about the windmills. We didn’t give a shit about the barren hills and their scraggly turf, or the looming of the approaching cities as we passed. But we loved the sunflowers.

    Field after endless field of bright, sunny faces whizzing by our own, smiling, bobbing, becoming a blur of yellow, brown and green. What would it be like to run in them, we wondered? To grab their long, prickly stalks in our hands and pull the blooms down to our faces, inhaling deeply as pollen covered our noses, our cheeks, our foreheads? Sunflower seeds came from them–could we pick them out and eat them right there? Our 4-year-old minds said yes.

    Then the fields would pass, and Disneyland would come, and go, and–eyes leaden with sleep–we would rest our heads against the windows, drifting off to sleep as we searched for the sunflowers, dark yellow suns in a sea of green and black.

    I remember the sunflowers. Thank you.

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