​Midnight in the Field

Do you feel it?

That sinking thought that sneaks in late at night?

A worm eating deep into your being, whispering that all-pervasive question:

Is this enough?

Will this satiate me?

This thought digs deeper into every cell every day as goods are acquired and capital is amassed

Yet in this field late at night, I don’t think of it

I think of this night

Sky devoid of the illumination of street lamps

I think of the beautiful illustrations made by stars

I think of home and where it might be

The beauty is moving, and I will admit to tears

I imagine looking down at this bright blue marble and the insignificant meanings

Comings and goings

Special and irrelevant

In moments, I lie in the vein of purpose

The heavens sing the truth lit by moonlight

The grass is dewy

Deer graze in the distance

The lone tree in the field houses an owl which flies away from her perch

And just as quickly as truth is relayed, it is forgotten like an old dream

Carried away by magnificent wings

My mouth tastes salty from tears

Getting up, I know by the next sunrise this will repeat again

The seeking for that vein yet again, relentless until oblivion