Across The Field

Across the field, what do you see? What do you know, what can you hear? Can you hear the leaves whistle through the wind, or do you hear the mimicking sound of the nearby pond dribbling for help? The ivory green settles up high ,but not in the sky, and the trees test their flexibility once the wind hurdles acrobatics. Spinning in circles beneath the trees, spinning in circles among the heavy weather. Two girls in their rain jackets and rain boots jump up and down the fiddled path, locking arms when the puddles come out to play. Across the field, what do you see? What do you know, what can you hear? The two girls giggle in their outside voices, skipping across the path, bundled as a fit platonic pair. The wind pulls the hair from their faces, the muddy substance attacks their boots, and the sky shudders droplets for them to rinse off their pain. Their worries for the future, the worries for the world. The plastic overlapping the universe, the pollution so overwhelming for our bodies. Oh how they wondered a way to save the world. To save from this globe, this twisting sphere, this three dimensional shape. Is there really livestock in this place? What about people, what about plants? How is existing fun, when the only thing available is t*****e. We t*****e animals for our own good, we t*****e this universe, we t*****e each other. We attack each other, but we need each other. We don’t know each other, yet we, as people, still decide to act like we’re villains. We’re the ones who take down the trees, we’re the ones who destroy this planet, we’re the ones who let non-biodegradable products vent into the ocean. Our home is falling apart—we’re falling apart, but if you think about it, who really cares? Across the field, what do you see? What do you know, what can you hear? The girls dance in the freezing cold, their jackets zipped up as high as the sky, their boots low as the land. Skipping across the mud, skipping across the freedom they share with everyone else. How they skip like there’s nothing wrong with this universe, how they skip like it’s the last day on this flying sphere. Up the bridge, up the stairs, they hold hands, wandering across the displayed wood chunks. Trust. Should we really trust one another? I mean really, come on, after everything we’ve done? Trust has everything to do with everything. Can you trust the wood chunks? Can you trust the droplets falling from the sky, can you trust the balance of your two feet? It’s all probability. One wrong step, you’ve lost your life. Your sanity, your peace, your closure. How one couldn’t think about the importance of trust. The two girls twirled upon the ice, skating across without the skates. They jumped and spun around, almost like tomorrow will never appear. Almost like the sun never shined the next day, almost like the clock will never reach the second twelve of the day. The girls had a contest. The first one to reach the other side wins. So they paddled across, not to care about the poor structure. Slip. The ice cracks. No one hears it. They paddle across, not to care about the poor structure. Slip. The ice cracks, and one of the girls falls in. Across the field, what do you see? What do you know, what can you hear? The thumps against the heavy ice, the cries for help. The screams bouncing in the ice cold water, the helpless figure with feelings hopelessly moving against the current. Against her will, against her freedom. How a lovely day turned into a drainage in the blink of an eye. Drowning in that freedom, unable to breathe against the darkness. Against the cold, against the pond water. She drowns in that fear of losing her peace. Her closure, her sanity, her life. She cannot reach sanity. She cannot reach her peace. She cannot reach her life. Across the field, what do you see? What do you know, what can you hear? Can you hear the leaves whistle through the wind, or do you hear the mimicking sound of the nearby pond dribbling for help?