Sun Stroke

I cannot explain the smell of grass this far from rocks, from birds, or from home as I doze at the tiller while the sun burns sullenly. I cannot explain the woman stood in yonder field, her parasol twirling, white dress dragging its length behind her; surrounded, as she is, by hazelnut trees. She turns momentarily; peering round the edge of the parasol, smiles, then continues her lazy, dancing walk, raising a hand, beckoning.

Like a white angel she stirs the green grass, sidestepping small stones, crossing infinity as a glimmering brightness follows her. I watch in my drowsy state as she stops, again beckoning, wrapped in wetness among the daisies and violets while a butterfly dances in the air close to her left arm, beautiful; perfect, settling finally on a ring of gold, its solitaire sparkling in contrast to her pale finger under the syrupy sun.

I tried to sleep… tried to remember…but try as I might I cannot bring my wife closer. I have no choice; I must set my feet in the grass and bring her to safety.