The meadow calls to me. Some days softly, others urgently. She calls me in all her beauty, sounds within the silence.

The whisper of corn brushing against my shins, pathways twisting and turning, creating mazes underfoot. The way unknown yet so familiar. A day steeped in drowsiness, hazy and faded around the edges. Small blooms sun drenched and muted. Stray ears of corn entwined amongst the flowers and grass as they faintly tickle outstretched fingers. No new buds, seeds awaiting spring or hungry birds. The long Summer days now past, the crisp chill of Autumn hovering within reach. The hedgerow trees alive. Birds disturbed from their solitude. I follow the call. A tired wanderer savouring the silence.

Beyond the grass field, the landscape unknown. Pathways walked a thousand times. I know the way now.

The meadow calls, inviting.