Lost in the Meadow

After a rainstorm early Sunday evening, the light changed, and showed the meadow in a whole new way. The wildflowers, though some might prefer to call them weeds, all weighed heavily with water, with each droplet catching the last rays of the sun. The birds were chirping, the light was incredible, and the soft colors of the meadow became more soothing. It was easy to be caught up in it just listening and observing, with admiration for how incredible meadows can be. After sitting there for what seemed like a long time, I realized it was about to get better. The fog began to approach in the distance, slowly rolling closer, until it began to first engulf and then surround me. The soft blue haze was calming. It was changing plants from living things to groves of foreign silhouettes,
and colors that are normally washed out by the sun, to soft pastel shades of grays, purples, greens and blues, only to be highlighted by the diamond flecks of water drops dripping from each weighed down seedhead.Like a child, I was lost in a world of fantasy.

It was quiet except for the occasional bird, and the shrieking noises of a horse a few fields away.

A line of Populus nigra took on the form of a tribe of tall quiet giants.

Even my friend Becky, seemed more like a creature than a fellow human being.
It kept getting thicker,

transporting me from Holland,

to what seemed like a peat bog in Scotland,
luring me into its mysteries.

Different plants created different feelings,

and old fences, and spider webs.

Each detail was savored.If you ever come across a meadow heavily weighed down by fog, let it lure you in....