Enter into a cornfield that is taller than it seemed. Just a few meters in, one can barely see the outside. Looking around, it seems like parallel lines; the leaves crossing over where they meet at infinity.
In one particular direction, a forest looms above the corn. It's the only thing tall enough to see. At its edge grows bottlebrush and amaranth; strange and weedy little plants that hold up against the glyphosate. The trees are tall and skinny hickory, draped with Virginia creeper turning a sickly red. The woods are thick with brush, dark right to the ground.
The ground is pale and cracked, and the only thing that grows is corn. That's all there is: strong corn, withered corn, fallen stalks and leaves, corn roots that seem to be grimy hands grasping at the dirt. The sun is bright and hot, and the thin leaves of the field provide no shelter.
Do you push your way INTO THE WOODS?
Do you walk through THE CORNFIELD?