Across a Field

Across a field, the tips of tall grass tremble in the moonlight. There are silent wings gliding the dark, soft callings way off in the distance and occasionally, glowing eyes seen high in the trees. Secrets are kept here sealed from sight, mysteries, a cache of wonders hidden under a thick silence fencing off the borderlands between dream and the oblivion of sleep. Here too are desires still unshaped in their nurseries, soul shadows rummaging through old remains, fears, childhood, the unanswered pleas echoing up from somewhere, looking for an opening to get inside your head.