Anna Kaye

A still, constant breeze is what woke you up. Pink tones to a bright white, stray yellow strings wave at the corners of your gaze. The ground was rough, under your head, under your palms. It was a field, you thought, laying there for a while. — You arched forward, the sun didn't move that much—and there: a figure you spotted through the swaying grain stalks. They stood there, staring, but you couldn't make out a face. With time, you stood as well, staring back at this mysterious coated stranger. Then, you waded through the crops, swatting the swaying stalks. Now you are face, to no face, with the stranger. Through their figure, they're a her, but her face hides behind a tall blank poster. You don't see through her window, but you can tell, she is happy for your prescence.