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".