There’s a particular kind of peace that settles in when you’re walking a gravel road at dusk. The heat lifts, the wind softens, and the light stretches itself low across the fields in long, golden bands. The gravel shifts under your feet with that steady, familiar crunch.
On these evening walks, everything around you changes in small, nearly unnoticed ways. Birds cross the sky, flying low. Rabbits slip in and out of the fence line. Deer pause at the edge of the field, listening before they move. Even the insects seem to hum at a different frequency as the day eases toward night. You can feel the land entering a softer rhythm, and without trying, you fall into it too.
What I love about these walks is how they invite attention without demanding it. You notice things you’d miss in the rush of daytime...the long shadows stretching across the road, the way the trees silhouette against the dimming sky, the faint shimmer of dust rising behind each step. Even the sound of your own footsteps feels like a reminder that you’re part of the landscape, not just passing through it.
I thought about saving this blend for summer, but I know winter is when I’ll need it most, when the days shorten and a bit of remembered warmth feels like enough to carry you through the darkness of the season.
Iowa Sunset is about the light - how it shifts, softens and embraces us at the end of the day. Gently reminding us to set down what we've been carrying and rest.