Field Dreams

Fields draw wide circles around the soul…rolling, flat,¬†earthy, brown, black, golden, green…

Sometimes I dream of fields. That¬†happens when you grew up as¬†I did, a country kid.¬†Somehow¬†life took me as it does so many of us and plunked me down amidst¬†crouching, noisy,¬†gritty hubs of cities.¬†Stuck in¬†shoebox spaces lined with hard pavement.¬†I liked the cities but they got to me too. No¬†texture. So I dreamed of fields. Wide open spaces.¬†I¬†longed for getaways to nowhere. I dreamed of¬†running away.¬†I needed to¬†breathe again.¬†Fields.¬†They remind me how life seems to have planted a bit of a wanderer inside everyone of us. Somewhere along life’s way we all long for space to roam.¬†I¬†sometimes¬†feel fields tugging at me¬†like an ocean’s¬†undertow.¬†¬†Wide stretches¬†of earth reaching out to me. No fences.¬†¬†The odd tree barrier reminding me there’s a¬†horizon. Fields¬†dusty and windblown.¬†Fields that let me¬†drink life from the endless bowl of sky.

What got me thinking this way¬†again was a¬†country drive¬†I took last week.¬†Harvest time.¬†The weather was heavenly. Not a cloud for miles. Clouds of dust sprouted up here and there where¬†farmers¬†cleared¬†crops.¬†A¬†leisurely stop¬†along the way. And as we drove, I kept staring off into the fields,¬†dreaming…other times and places.

Childhood days. Growing up in a small town. Hard toil was the norm.¬†Men and women shouting.¬†Gales of laughter winging on¬†wind as¬†freewheeling as¬†seagulls diving and swooping for a handout.¬†Tumbling¬†grain¬†threshed and sliding¬†silvery gold into a steel silo at my grandma’s farm. Rocks rolling underfoot.¬†Stumbling, earthy, golden moments stuck in my¬†throat and refreshed by¬†icy gulps of well water.¬†My brother and I always found time to sneak¬†under¬†the grain shute as it poured out in a heap. Then¬†we got shoo’d away,¬†our palms sweaty, our¬†pockets full of¬†wheat.¬†We chomped the grain like¬†it was¬†Wrigley’s¬†chewing gum.

Fields are for seeding. Fields¬†harvest life. Fields surround us, even when we forget about them as we hunker down in cities like sailors aboard ship on stormy seas.¬†Fields fill us up and¬†give¬†us space.¬†Fields hem us in without borders. They know how¬†to embrace and¬†how to let us go. Fields are freeing places. They promise something…and always deliver. Fields let us dream again.

copyright 2011 S. Michaels


Land of rising sun
Unsettled courage fell
Black walls of night seas swelled
Icy¬†obliteration of Spring’s green
Gentle silkworms, apple blossoms shaken
Sweeping darkness, children weeping, a father
Stared down destruction’s hell,¬†his sons¬†held close
Debris, death falling, silent as snow
Scattered prayers like falling stars
Waiting whispered echoes
Shine…shine again…
Land of rising sun
©2011 S. Michaels
From BBC NEWS, 0320, March 17th: Tony Parson of the UK tweets: The 180 technicians working in the nuclear plant are giving their lives so that others might live. This is what love looks like.”