Oak Tree

There is a field in the backyard; a large four acre field where grass grows waist high, because no one cares enough to mow it. I like walking through that field at dusk, with the bugs humming and the grasshoppers jumping in and out of the orange light as the sun goes down, further, and further. I spread my hands and run them along the browning blades as I walk.

There’s a large red oak tree on the further end of the field, standing alone just out of range of the forest behind it. The branches are dark, and the wind rustles the thousands of leaves as the sun sinks lower, and lower. I’m staring at the trunk, having made it halfway through the field. A chill is set hanging in the air. The tree is once more swayed by the wind, bending back and forth, and I suddenly feel vulnerable.

I’m alone and out in the open, with the dark approaching quickly. I can’t be out here when it’s dark. I turn my back on the tree and run. The grass hinders me now, tangling over my bare feet and pulling at my clothes. I have to get inside. I can feel it, something large, something is there. I run faster, stubbing my toes on rocks and cutting my ankles on sharp nettles. Run! Faster! Faster!

My foot sinks down unexpectedly, and I fall forward onto my hands and knees, landing in a muddy ditch. The sun is gone, and the waning light is all that remains. Shaking, I crawl out of the mud and curl up in the grass. This feels safer, the grass sheltering me as I huddle close to the earth. The crickets continue to chirp, and as the stars begin to appear in the sky, I concentrate on their soothing sound. Eyes closed, ankle throbbing, I hug myself and drift to sleep.