There used to be a field kept cropped by sheep. It seemed devour of variety and color until one day the sheep left and didn't return. The field began to go wild, plants that had for so long hunkered down from the ruminants teeth now lifted their heads and Bataan to grow.
Sometimes after a days dusty digging and being snagged by roses I like to go for a ramble through the field and let my mind unravel. Now I spot wildflower aplenty, tree seedlings sprouting and beginning to reclaim the earth for the bordering woodland, seedheads already preparing the next generation and a constant bustling buzz on the air out insects and the predators they encourage.
After a slow amble through the grasses, swishing the blades as I walk, listening to the soft murmuring breeze I turn to look back and see this path. A brief memory layed down in physical form to show the meanderings of my mind expressed through the tread of my feet. Happily I walk on knowing there's always time to ramble.
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