Summoning the Echo

"They must be dancin' in the wheat field

tonight", is what my grandmother used to say

when something was all together strange, or

at least odd enough to merit her attention.

I've never uttered the phrase myself. It

always seemed somewhat antiquated, like

it didn't belong to me, so I had no business

using it. Which is true. Some sayings just

run their course. But in the midst of this,

grief buys grief another round. The drizzle-mist

outside is lessening. I attempt to see everything

in its abstract form. The night is guilty.

The moon is a co-conspirator. I summon

the echo, "they must be dancin' in the

wheat field tonight".