Good morning. I hope everyone is doing well on this rainy Tuesday morning. I’m actually doing better than i was yesterday as the rain is flushing the pollens out of the air. It won’t last, Spring has sprung, but it is nice to have a day of relief. So now that I can take a deep breath with no honking and or sinus med assistance, let’s all breath deep and jump into the morning prompt. Ready, set, Jump…er write!
Oh I like this. Something bad is coming. I don’t know what but it is coming. I think this one may nag the back of my brain until I finish it.
Tuesday, April 12th: The field was full of blue cornflowers.
The field was full of blue cornflowers. They swayed in the breeze their silky petals splayed. They looked as though they were bowing courteously to the shorter green grass blades below them. As I stepped into the fields I did my best not to step on them, to dodge the blue flowers and not leave floral carnage in my wake.
They seemed to stretch in a wave of blue to the horizon. When seen from above the grass was no more than a backdrop with the blue dominating. I waded deeper into the field. I could hear the others, their voices carried on the wind.
They were far enough away that I couldn’t make out the words. It was just a murmur of voices floating through the background. I kept going, pushing further into the field until the voice ceased to be voices and began just a low murmur, as indistinct as the ocean waves.
We were too far inland for there to be any noises from the sea. The nearest ocean was at least several hundred miles away. I missed the ocean.
I missed a lot of things.
But the past was not why we came out here. Here was about moving forward. At least according to everyone else. It was the great gathering of the family. Plans had been made. A course charted. He looked around. The line of trees separating the house from the field cut off all view of the house, the outbuilding, the cars and any people that might be milling around. The distance took away the details of the voices. He was as alone as he was going to get.
He lay down on the cool earth, committing himself to crushing some of the cornflowers. Laying on the ground, the flowers on their long thin stems bobbed around him, occasionally intruding on his view. Mostly he saw a large expanse of cloudless sky. It was a strange sensation. The ground was cool beneath him, the sun was hot above. He felt almost suspended between the two extremes.
He didn’t mind the others making plans, he just minded them making plans for him. ‘It was the looks that did it,’ he thought. While it was the first time they gathered, he notice the looks as one person glanced at another one and the narrative of what must be done was passed around the room. It was clear this had been discussed, that much of the plan was already determined.
He never received a call. No one asked him for input. Yet as the morning progressed he began to feel more and more like he was the only one who hadn’t been consulted about the plan, about the family’s arrangements. It was equally clear that his involvement was key. If he agreed to play is part the plan would move forward. If he refused, it would fall apart.
He didn’t mind his part in the plan, but he hated feeling hoodwinked. It felt like they thought he wasn’t going to participate and all gathered together to force him to conform. While he hadn’t minded the plan or his participation,. That feeling now made him want to refuse, to dig in his heels and say no. He closed his eyes, letting the sun beat down gently on his lids. He was just tired of it all. Slowly he slipped into sleep. When he woke, the moon had replaced the sun and the sound of crickets were loud in the darkness. He lay there listening to them for a moment. Then, the crickets fell silent. Someone was here.
Ten til Midnight 