The Quiet Meadow

The former pasture had been mown to a golf-green sheen. We stopped. Over two seasons the field returned to little bluestem, goldenrod, and milkweed. A single mowing path traces the old fence line.

At the woodland edge we built a small timber pavilion — cedar, no paint, a roof that collects rain into a cistern. It is a place to watch the meadow change, not a party room.

Birds arrived before the second summer. The client walks the path at dusk. That is the entire program.