Roll In The Hay

(Got you with the title, didn't I? A bait and switch...)

I have a penchant for running off at parties. I can only handle so much mix and mingle. I'm no good at it for long periods of time. Like a windup toy, my arms start moving in slow motion and I tend to spill my wine as well as make evident my ineptitude at small talk. A re-charge is necessary.

The huge field behind the yard was calling me. The sun was low and lit the freshly mown grasses like a golden fleece. I wandered the garden rows behind two wild turkeys hoping to mate...well, I'm not sure the female was so inclined, but the tom continued his chase with the fervor of a teenage crush. I took inventory of all things sprouting. Onions. Garlic. Bad breath central, which matters little when the delicious flavors are mingling on your tongue.

I continued walking to the back of the property, eyes averted from the courtship in hopes that privacy would aid the deed. Two beautiful brown horses lifted their long lashes and slapped at the lazy flies within reach of their tails. Deciding I was innocuous, they continued to graze as the sunlight slipped another notch. As I turned back towards the house it was unearthly quiet. Acres of yellow field spread out in a come hither sigh and I wanted desperately to lie down on it...a vagrant, a stowaway, a field mouse. But I'd have hay in my hair, and weeds in my sweater, and dirt on my ass. Ha! What would our hosts think? I kept walking. Until I didn't.

This might be my last foray into THIS field, at THIS time of day, with all these elements hand picked for my enjoyment. To hell with the hay in my hair. I removed my sweater and lay down in the middle of the field. The sky was a solid color blue, as if a construction paper cutout suspended on string. The grasses were even softer than I imagined and I lay upon my huge manger feeling delightfully small. The breeze was gentle enough not to displace anything but my harried thoughts until a tickle against my arm turned my head. Somehow a tall stalk of green grass remained there...just one, and on it a spot of red. I could have easily stepped on it, or lain on it. I bent the stalk to bring the red into focus. Spots. A ladybug.

"What are you doing out here?"

"I might ask the same thing of you!"

(laughter) "Waiting."

"For...?"

"Whatever comes next."

"Which is...?"

"Unknown."

"And we lay waiting because...?"

"We'll miss it if we don't."

"Ahhhhh!"

I left her as I found her, unsure who had spoken first, but glad I'd not missed my connection.
.
.
.
.