|A man is in a field, his legs outstretched before him and a stalk of wheat between his lips.
Tall crops growing around him and the sun is ready to sink below the horizon.
He smells like onions and his skin is thin and browned.
He is idly talking to himself.
If a fire were to tear through the field, he postulated,
then what would be the effect?
The crops would be unsuited for sale or consumption, for one.
He then queried on his body, his shell.
Coming to the conclusion that nevermind the damage to himself,
the fire, may in fact be beneficial in a roundabout manner.
For though he may die, the farmer will live on,
and new fruits will grow from old disaster,
and from the burnt out shell of his body,
shall grow new life, and the present will subsume the past.
Having nowhere to go and nobody to see, means he will
remain in this field for an indiscriminate length of time.
The twinkling of the primary stars draw his eyes to the heavens,
just two of them for now.
Mirroring his pupils.
He suddenly changes tone.
Now he is speaking to a lost love, as if in hope that the stars, being common to both,
will communicate his message like a satellite, but alas there is no response.
Rooting through his bag in search of nourishment, he happens upon a ripe, fat onion.
After eating, he turns his face to the floor, and lies upon his side, conversing with the earth.
*description of his dream *
The wisdom of the few outweighs the opinions of the many.