The field beckons, actual plants not manicured grass to look like a plastic Barbie lawn, flowers tangled around each other, the froth of Queen Anne’s Lace mixed with the melting suns of Black-Eyed Susans.
The football field has properly trimmed grass. Flat and freshly made. Nothing exciting was going on.
And the next thing I know, was that I was laying on the ground, palms behind my head. The sun is bright, I know. But I watched the clouds passed by slowly.
running wild and free through a poppy field until i remember that poppies are associated with death. mass death. wars. atrocities. but they’re beautiful. should i be happy that they’re beautiful? should I be sad that we have come to see them represent death? isn’t death beautiful too? but in what context?
The field beckons, actual plants not manicured grass to look like a plastic Barbie lawn, flowers tangled around each other, the froth of Queen Anne’s Lace mixed with the melting suns of Black-Eyed Susans.
The football field has properly trimmed grass. Flat and freshly made. Nothing exciting was going on.
And the next thing I know, was that I was laying on the ground, palms behind my head. The sun is bright, I know. But I watched the clouds passed by slowly.
And it felt great.
running wild and free through a poppy field until i remember that poppies are associated with death. mass death. wars. atrocities. but they’re beautiful. should i be happy that they’re beautiful? should I be sad that we have come to see them represent death? isn’t death beautiful too? but in what context?