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From the blackness of the Baranja soil to the whiteness of pure white Baranja snow, it is a journey which only a few landscapes could take. Is it the huge stacks of straw lying in the fields after the harvest? Or the stump of maize not fully covered by the snow? Or is it maybe a quail, leaping suddenly from a wheat field? Or a moustache of the same corn, only earlier, when the afternoon swelter wrapped it into an almost dry greenish-gray scarf that knew dark gold autumn was on its way.

Delimir Rešicki, The Magnificent Baranja