The memories of my childhood summers, spent back in Hungary. Meadow flowers and grasses, softly moving and waving in the light summer breeze, their vivid greens already burnt to a warm yellow-brown by the sun. The scorching heat, that melted the tarmac on the roads and made the air tremble above them. The chirping of crickets, the buzzing of the insects, the ringing of the church bell from a distant village, the constant whisper of the feathering grasses.