Strawberry Fields

May 22, 2025 (late at night)

Tonight I was walking along the other bridge admiring the view of ‘my’ bridge, plotting a good photographic angle, when a real bucket of a truck loped past, bouncing a few baskets of strawberries onto the road.

Cars trundled by, squashing those succulent berries into pulp. A slight ‘squish’ sound erupted, and with it, a beautiful fragrant smell wafted through my body, into my nostrils, deep into my soul, drifting onwards, mingling with the black waters of the Váh below.

Yes, peaches, not strawberries. Tomato potato. Photo: William Eggleston, Untitled, 1971.

I stopped, and took in a very deep breath. I didn’t want to let that luscious smell disappear.

A car honked. The smell dispersed. I left.