Amid waves of grass in red and green and the hush of the tide, the sun set over the hills.

WSJ: Four Days Through Friesland

He looked younger without his mustache, or perhaps it was the red moccasins, one of which still lay upturned on the grass.

NEWYORKER: While the Women Are Sleeping

It took three passes before we found the turnoff, an unmarked path of red dirt, two parallel paths, really, tire tracks, with grass growing in the middle.

NEWYORKER: Reverting to a Wild State

As the road climbed into the forested folds of Misiones's central sierras, the colors seemed unnaturally bright, the saturated emerald of grass and leaves standing out against the earth's deep, rusty red.

WSJ: Bird Watching in Misiones Province, Argentina