The fable of the field

 

In the morning the field was asleep,

Crickets hummed, but only just enough.

The tune was captured by the lull of steady wind

Massaging the whispering tufts

Of grass.

 

The humble frogs hardly boasted

The dragonflies dawdled and swayed

Occasionally flicking their fragile wings

And dreaming of more dormant days

They rested on their tender reeds.  

 

The chrysalis blended with the blossoms

The butterflies preferring to linger before they flew

Patiently pressing relaxed quantities

Of their metamorphic dew.

Into thick drops.

 

The bees buzz was muted,

As the popping bubbles of the lazy creek

They paused on comfortable petals

Sipping a sumptuous treat

From a bloom.

 

 

The eastern sun illuminated an immense form in the distance,

It was you.

You were singing and waving furiously,

Stomping with thudding boots.

Towards the snoozing field that curiously

Opened one wary eye

And watched you come closer.

As you approached your wild arms whipped up a wind

So powerful that the grass thrashed like a frenzied loom

Shaking off the butterflies.

Tossing them from their blooms,   

They rose together like a cloud of steam in revelation

As if from a boiling kettle,

Elated by their elevation.

Into the noonday sun.  

 

The song sent sharp ripples across the pond

The frogs pumped up their balloons

Then broke into obstreperous chorus

Matching your frequency with tunes

In harmony.

 

The dragonflies tumbled from their bouncing reeds,

Righted themselves in midair,

Discovered their wings were fashioned for speed,

And took off in daring flight

The disturbance prodded the crickets

To pull their forewings tight

Grinding them forcefully.

The bees swarmed together

To compete with the ruckus

Of the suddenly turbid creek.

 

 Just before sunset you reached the western edge,

Your formidable shadow smothered the churning grass.  

First depleting its color,

Then the giant boot came down with a smash  

Snapping the cricket’s tender bows.

Broken stalks stuck in the tread as it rose

And smashed again.

 

The blow splashed the water out of the pond,

Drenching the butterflies,

Their heavy, soaked wings sent them plummeting to the earth,

Their paper bodies

Dissolved in the dirt.

 

The suffocating frogs flapped feebly

Along the cracked crevices of the thirsty hole.

The dried bed littered with desiccated bees

The dragonflies lost their orientation

Flinging themselves upon the parched stones.

You left the field without looking back,

Then, now whistling, marched over the hill,

And who knows why?

You were swallowed up

By the black curtain sky.