Who can recall sitting upon the old porch in the heat of summer and swatting the silent yellow flies? I would stack the flies killed in a row and wait for the ants to come and carry them away.
This old covered bridge was off 441 somewhere in North Georgia, off the main road. It was no longer used for traffic, as noted by the fence in the background.
This lady and her dog were photographed in North Carolina along a rocky,winding back road, seldom traveled. Robert and I stopped and she proudly posed beside her barn.
In a field in North Carolina stood this silent sentinel overlooking his corn crop. He was quite the soldier and I do not believe any crow or starling dared enter the scope of his wooden rifle.
Another angle of the yellow flies shown laid out for the ants to feast upon. Such were the long, slow days of summer when the cares of life seemed so distant, that the main occupation was the riddance of the yellers.
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