Fields

Now all the tall grasses
Touch me
As I walk to the pathway.
I feel more than ever the sharpness.

And pulling on dried ears. I snap them off.
Tossing them casually away as though they didn't matter.
I stop. 
Was someone calling? 
Silence, except for the roaring whispers of gossiping grasses.

The worn-down pathway lies ahead
and there is the bag I left unhidden on a piece of slate by my landmark tree.
Containing biscuits.
And an empty glass bottle that once shone like sun with apple juice.

We came to this place
A long time ago, before.... Well, just before...
And now the field is just a field once again
And no longer a part of our unrecorded history.