I Stood.
Feet on the floor. 
Perilous. 
Before me. 
The Empty Field. 
Brown. Dirty. Barren. 

The wheat had gone
Its whispy movement
A memory echo of a beautiful summer. 

I pined its loss
For weeks. 
Complaining there
Was nothing to see
At sunset. 
Except clouds. 

Empty. 
Empty field. 
I stood
Yet. Now. 
This moment. 
This evening. 

Tears flowed. 
Memory of a lost friend. 
Grief spilled down my cheeks
Never making it into the field. 
Aside from remembrance. 

The scene was rich
The scene was full
Of memory. 

And not just the past
The Person. 
The loss.

But now the empty field. 
Held promise
Potential. Planting. 
One day it will grow again
The bed of harvest in another year. 
Open. Possibility. 
Waiting. 

The Empty field
Was me.
Rich. Deep. Growing. Ground. 
Open

Vast expanse. 
Yet. 

A field. 
Tormented. Taken. Drained. 
Left to find its own manure. 
Yet. Did. Despite. 
Water, Sun and Desire
Grew.

Even years of taking. 
Early farmers taking more than they gave. 

I stood at the edge. 
Where the safety of the diminishing path gave way. 
Like a cliff by the sea. 
Swallowed by the field. 
On the boundary. 
Between. 
I looked.

Soul standing there. 
Free. 
Aware. 
Alive. 
Awake. 
Open field. 
Opportunity. 

Empty field
Alive with possibility. 
Sunset beams her warmth across
Nature could fulfil the rest. 
Restoration a natural delight
If left. 
Open. 

I surrender to the open field
She holds my dreams
Her growth a challenge
A risk.

I give myself to her Soul
Surrender to natures healing
An empty dream
To be fulfilled. 
On drained soil. 
Time to plant now. 
Flowers like precious dreams
Crops like desires full and free. 

Who am I to care?
Who am I to grieve?
Pouring tears into the empty field
Her spacious ground
Beckoning me. 

I may be bruised. I may have found riches hard to find.
I may have had to work so hard to get to here. 
And yet, 

Empty field. So are you. 

I may have had to work it out on my own
I can make my own becoming. 

As now I stand. 
Tall. 
With nothing. 
But me. 
The empty field. 

Ready to dance.
Ready to glow
Ready to love
Ready to rage
Ready to run 
Ready to dream

Soil empty rich
Chasm of possibility. 
Allow me to take
The risky step. 

The field was no longer me
It was just a field
It wasn’t even that
For a moment
She was home. 

I wonder if the field was ever empty at all. 
If she heard my memories
And held my dreams
If her imagination gave my desires their choice. 

And as if the poetic could even stop there. 
The signs in my direction
Was empty too. 

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