Enter into a path of dolostone gravel, tan and weathered gray. Its parallel tire marks draw the eye to infinity both directions. The road is lined by fields of corn. The corn is not yet knee tall. It looks more like crabgrass that way. The corn shows some of its roots prying up from the cracked earth.
The sky is a deep teal color, composed of interlocking plates of cloud sliding over the fields. It seems almost possible to catch a glimpse of sun, as they move and shift into each other. For those efforts the place is dim, hanging on the hot verge of night. This seems like the sort of place that hundreds of fireflies would inhabit. Perhaps their flashbulbs would cut the gloom. Perhaps they would synchronize to the sound of crickets. The humid June night would feel hopeful if it weren't completely silent, and completely still- save for the churning clouds above.
Do you go on DOWN THE ROAD?
Do you turn and walk into THE CORNFIELD?