This is my childhood. I used to go to Kurunegala with my father, and the village there had a kamatha, the threshing floor where the harvest is brought and the grain separated. It is the end of the whole year's work and the village does it together. I have always liked the color of the hay. Beside the kamatha stood huge mango trees, and in the evenings we went to pluck mangoes. What I wanted was how it comes back now, blurred and vivid at once, the coolness and the calm of it. The houses are the brown shapes. The movement through the rest is wind. It is lit throughout, because the village did not go dark until very late.