I Have Written a Short Story
I stand alone, completely and utterly alone beneath the stars. A gentle breeze tickles my face, swaying the waist high wheat to caress my outstretched and bruised palms, tickling my legs, humming in my ears. Drenched in moonlight, their stalks hold only the memory of the golden splendor the sun blessed them with, but the moon is a peaceful thief that does not leave this field wanting. Instead, the waves of pallid grass sway serenely, an ocean of endless movement and equanimity. Questions whisper on the winds, lax but not lacking. There is no light but that of the moon; the rest of the world asleep in their beds. Even the distant farmhouse is dark. The tenants of the homes on the horizon have all retired for the evening, them being creatures of the light. They do not know the creatures of dark that stir just beyond their doorsteps. They will have to be early to rise with the sun, to tend their fields and go about their various tasks. They will sweat and toil under the full brightness of sun, breaking their backs in an effort to keep their little piece of their peace in order. For now though, the world and this night belong to the moon and I.
I take a deep breath, absorbing the cool summer night air that mingles with the earthy smell of growing things. It has a heartbeat of its own, pulsing softly and slowly beneath the earth through every rock, tree and piece of wheat. Here, the pull of conscious thought is a bit more languid. Even the clouds in the late night sky seem to drift. There is a peace in the middle of this field, with nothing but my thoughts to keep me company. There is something about it that unsettles me: this quiet. It takes a moment, but once I realize the cause of my unease, it melts away into the damp earth. The white noise of humanity is not in my ears. No distant rushing cars, no angry bright lights disturbing the dark, not even so much as a single footstep disrupts the order of things out here. Free from the trappings of everyday life, I am permitted to simply exist as I am. No posing, no conscious way of arranging my face or voice, no need to pay attention to anything except the here and now.
This moment exist beyond, in a place separate from time and needs, a place entirely its own. It is in a bubble, a peaceful little realm where nothing else endures but the stars, the feeling of wheat as it sways against my body, my own heartbeat inside my chest, the hum of a midnight insect. In this one single, solitary moment I am a part of something more than myself. I am a part of all that is, was and ever will be… if only for this moment. And I am alone.
I take a deep breath, absorbing the cool summer night air that mingles with the earthy smell of growing things. It has a heartbeat of its own, pulsing softly and slowly beneath the earth through every rock, tree and piece of wheat. Here, the pull of conscious thought is a bit more languid. Even the clouds in the late night sky seem to drift. There is a peace in the middle of this field, with nothing but my thoughts to keep me company. There is something about it that unsettles me: this quiet. It takes a moment, but once I realize the cause of my unease, it melts away into the damp earth. The white noise of humanity is not in my ears. No distant rushing cars, no angry bright lights disturbing the dark, not even so much as a single footstep disrupts the order of things out here. Free from the trappings of everyday life, I am permitted to simply exist as I am. No posing, no conscious way of arranging my face or voice, no need to pay attention to anything except the here and now.
This moment exist beyond, in a place separate from time and needs, a place entirely its own. It is in a bubble, a peaceful little realm where nothing else endures but the stars, the feeling of wheat as it sways against my body, my own heartbeat inside my chest, the hum of a midnight insect. In this one single, solitary moment I am a part of something more than myself. I am a part of all that is, was and ever will be… if only for this moment. And I am alone.
