“FIELD” IS A VERB

Do I blend in yet? Do I look like I belong here? I’ve been trying to turn into this field my whole life. Sucking the sweet out of its grasses. Rubbing the orange and yellow paintbrushes into my skin. After haying was done I’d tuck myself in between two round bales for a nap. I’d wake up with my furry little tan legs all pink with bites and scratches that Mom taught me to poultice with Plantain. The rhythm of this field drums so steady in me that wouldn’t you know when I stopped by today on what I thought was a whim - it was right then being cut for hay. I thought for a second it was the same guy driving the tractor - but it was his son - which made me smile more. I bet his dad figured out what I’m still trying for.

I learned that the Passamaquoddy word for “field” is a verb. So I’ll keep trying.

I could go on and on about it here but you can probably just close your eyes and smell the place and know exactly what I’d like to say.