A distant stand of trees

by DRM

Look at the photo and imagine.

I am remembering.

The field was narrower and bordered by a thin wall of trees that separated one field from the next. In winter, the frozen ground crunched beneath your boots, and the brittle corn stalks crackled like stale cereal. The collar of your old army coat is bunched up under your chin against the crisp cold. The air is dry, and the bay is sparkling bright.

Not this evening though, as you walk back from a tromp in the woods. Dusk falls with a smokey fog. Two blackbirds fly off across the dusty sky. You feel the sweat on your face.

The walk brought no respite. Your heart is still clenched, heavy and thin. You want the enveloping softness of the air to embrace you, for nature to provide a sensible outcome.

But you can’t find a quiet space that let’s you be peaceful and whole. The steps you take jar your head. You move more quickly. It’s time to get home and into the busy worry.