it’s the time of year when fields turn golden. and wow, i didn’t know my kids had such wheat-colored hair; i did know they had wheat-textured hair…
i consider myself a city-girl at her core, but this year when i stepped in the wheat field next to nana and papa’s place, i knew the calm that the country brings. i had one foot on tended lawn and the other on ground so dry it cracked with tall poky stalks. i imagined my husband and his brothers as little boys running the length of the lawn on the edge of the wheat field. i felt the safety in the quiet.
the kids went to the field like fish to water or bears to woods.
the seemingly swam their way out for no other purpose than to “go out there.” as soon as they would reach down to pick up a treasure, they disappeared…and of course my mind goes right to families who have lost children. who saw them one minute and then never again. who knew they couldn’t be far, but didn’t know where to start looking.
i can’t help it.
my own eliza was far out with the others, then got scared.
back she came nearly holding her breath not to drown in the wheat that was taller than she.
then she waits for the others and complains that she isn’t out there.
isn’t that life.
oh, good times on the farm to make me think beyond the moment.