Not dozens. Not hundreds. Acres . Billions of tiny yellow solar panels staring directly into your soul.
The scooter hums. You pull over to the gravel shoulder. You remove your helmet. The silence is enormous, broken only by the industrial buzz of a million bees working the flower heads. The stalks are seven feet tall—taller than you. Walking into the field is a religious experience. The flowers are heavy with seeds, nodding slightly in the breeze like a congregation saying amen . Scooters- Sunflowers And Nudists...
We begin our journey in the region of France, specifically the Route du Soleil . It is late July. The mistral wind is blowing. And the sunflowers are turning their heads to follow the sun like an audience watching a tennis match. Part II: The Golden Army (The Sunflowers) You think you know sunflowers. You’ve seen them in a van Gogh painting. You’ve bought a sad little bouquet at a grocery store. You are not prepared for the Sunflower Field . Not dozens