drmstream[writing]

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.