The Field

The Field
Words: 342

The fog lifted gently off the soft earth, creating a blanket for the morning bugs that twittered softly in the undergrowth. The birds were already awake, chirping their love songs to each other in a blissful flow of rhythm. Trees lining the extent of the horizon created a mesh shield for the newly risen sun that now shone brightly against the grass in an uncanny orange glow. The presence of others had all but left and the company of nature caressed the man in a warm hold. Looking out across the tree stump where he sat, he saw fields dragging out into the distance and dark, green forests forming along the skyline.

The gentle touch of morning dew against this man’s delicate hands overwhelmed him with joy. He smiled softly as he let a dewdrop fall from his finger. It plopped onto the soil and left a circle-shaped pool of water. The sunlight quickly dried it up.

The man was young with a thin face, shining in the light. His glasses gave him a professional look, the look of an author. Despite all the tasks at hand, he’d managed a calming walk through the fields.

He now sits upon an old tree stump with his notepad, jotting down tales of a long-forgotten beauty. The pencil he uses moves delicately across the paper, leaving line after line of gently rolling script.

A yawn. The man sees his breath coalesce into a cloud of air in front of him. He stands up to stretch and grabs his walking stick. For a moment he is lost in nature’s beauty. For a moment there is nothing to worry about. For a moment he realizes that even with all of the obstacles that hinder us in our life, we will always make it to the end, the field, the place of peace. It may take the weak-minded longer than the lonely, but everyone will eventually find their field.

With that, the young man turns around and begins his long walk back towards reality.