This field is still.
A newly-fallen patch of talcum-white covers the ground.
Stillness undisturbed by the plodding tread of man or beast.
Where yesterday was the dawn of a new sun
Today is greeted with a cool blue absence.
But inside, underneath, a warm seed rests.
Planted deep in the ground.
Anxious to burst out.
Dying to grow?
Or growing to die
Or growing to die.
I sit here.
Leavened as the thin patch of frost.