Walking fields as a kid
As a boy I would walk the grassy fields near our home in the countryside. In the summer it was hot and stickers would grab hold of my socks as I pushed through the sage weeds; the thorn branches left skinny rivulets of blood on my legs; dirt beneath my fingernails; and I took turns watching the earth and the sky, being waken from my reverie from the scattering buzzing wings of the grasshoppers who flew from beneath my feet. I’d jump and scare myself, and often thought of rattlesnakes hissing from the clumps, though never did I see one. This was all magical and miracles were in every place.
I would walk and imagine stories and I was the hero. The brown curly-haired girl who sat next to me in class walked next to me in my dreams, and so my arm was out and my hand clasped the air which was meant to be her hand in mine. Coming upon a hill I stopped and whispered, “Wait, do you see him?”
It was a butterfly bomb, you see, and the whole cloud of them enveloped the moose, who dropped his bazooka and took off away over the field at a dead sprint, never to be seen again. tweet
“What is it?” She timidly whispered to my imagination.
“It is a great moose soldier of the Monstrous Moose Kingdom of Miracle Whip,” I said, pointing to a stand of trees in the distance. “See him there? He is out on patrol. We must be careful.”
And I beckoned her to crouch down with me to hide in the grass. We huddled close and still I held her hand, wishing to comfort her with my strength.
“We must call in reinforcements,” I said. So I took a rock from the earth, which was my walkie-talkie, and pressed it on. “Hello, headquarters. There is a moose soldier nearby. Please bring us aid.”
And we waited, and I could feel her breathing next to me. Soon a great plane appeared on the horizon. As it passed overhead a large bomb was released, casting an ever-increasing shadow on the ground below. The moose soldier, whom was standing on his hind legs and carrying a bazooka as moose soldiers did, suddenly saw his danger. But too late! The bomb landed nearby and burst open upon impact, releasing a cloud of colorful wings. It was a butterfly bomb, you see, and the whole cloud of them enveloped the moose, who dropped his bazooka and took off away over the field at a dead sprint, never to be seen again.
“We’re safe now,” I said, carefully helping my lady to her feet. We began walking and—chuk chuk chuk chuk!—a grasshopper and the vision was gone and she was gone and again I was alone simply walking across an empty field where there were no rattlesnakes.