My pain is standing at the beginning of a very long and expansive green field. Lush. The sky is cerulean blue, limpid, and filled with the lightest air that gently wipes across each thread of one’s hair. There is gentle silence, a kind of silence that yields to the production of deep thought and clarity. Everything smells vivid, as intense as the grass is green.
My pain is confusion and disbelief. A misunderstanding of the forces between each blade of grass, and the earth from the sky. An expansiveness so quiet, in fact, that it lacks the peppering of common observers. This field is not mine but I am a part of it. I have to tend this field on my own but for what purpose do I share this horizon?