Rolling Hills Upon Time
The wheat moved in waves as a breeze crossed the fields. The moon shown bright beyond the hazy purple clouds. A road cut up into the rolling hills towards the north. If one stared long enough through the breezy wheat they could see their past catching up to them. It’s regret and nostalgia far away at first. The eye blinks, the wheat obstructs the vision and it appears closer and closer. If one turns, the future mirroring the past in the same fashion until they both collide into the present. One would find themselves on their back peering up into the dark skies. Wheat wisping back and forth like a haze in vision. Taking in the moment one can hear the howl of the wind, brushing of bristles on each other into a roar and the calling of a murder of crows gliding across the dark gold ocean.
What lies more to man then a promising future and a regretful past.
Inspired by Wheatfield with Crows by Vincent Van Gogh