The field was from a different world than the traffic that buzzed past it. The swishing of the grass was a stark contrast to the sound of tires on asphalt. The sweet tones of an Eastern Meadowlark's song soothed the angry honking of an offended driver. The green grass, yellow coreopsis, and purple asters were a soft relief from the bright, harsh colors of the cars on the highway.
I found myself drawn to the field as my family drove by on our way to church. The sun was bright that day in early autumn, making the most of the last days before its heat was edged out by frosty air. A whistling call drifted through the open car window.
"Meadowlark," my dad said, glancing back at me with a smile. It was the only bird he could reliably identify by sound, forgetting all the others I tried to teach him. He was proud of that one bird he knew.
I smiled too, turning back to the window. The field zipped by, the wildflowers waving their cheerful heads goodbye.
Among the flowers, next to a groundhog hole and a scraggly oak sapling, there was a bright orange flag. The kind used for marking future construction sites. The busy world the highway belonged to must have liked the field as much as I did.
I found myself drawn to the field as my family drove by on our way to church. The sun was bright that day in early autumn, making the most of the last days before its heat was edged out by frosty air. A whistling call drifted through the open car window.
"Meadowlark," my dad said, glancing back at me with a smile. It was the only bird he could reliably identify by sound, forgetting all the others I tried to teach him. He was proud of that one bird he knew.
I smiled too, turning back to the window. The field zipped by, the wildflowers waving their cheerful heads goodbye.
Among the flowers, next to a groundhog hole and a scraggly oak sapling, there was a bright orange flag. The kind used for marking future construction sites. The busy world the highway belonged to must have liked the field as much as I did.
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