Field of wheat

I am standing in a field of wheat nearly harvest ready,

my eyes are tightly shut, arms outstretched to steady

as I slowly place my foot.

My ungainly faltered step reminds me I should stop.

I am completely blind, motionless amidst the crop

when joy untold I find.

Other senses are invoked as sight has now been shed,

insects hum and sing, a symphony by Grasshopper led,

accents by corvid wing.

I feel warm solar lips brush tenderly against my hair,

and hear the rush, of wheat flock sway by fussing air

toying without crush.

Spice tinged scent, barely there from a hidden source,

pollen and cereal dust, birdsong a melody of Morse,

caught on sudden Gust.

I relish this sensual treat, that caught me by surprise,

the moment I closed my eyes.


7 thoughts on “FIELD OF WHEAT

    1. Thank you, I’m blessed with a good memory and can recall in minute detail ‘peak experiences’ such as these. The very act of remembering p.e’s generates a similar ‘feel-good’ emotion and using that as a basis for writing boosts the whole experience into overdrive .

      Liked by 1 person

      1. That’s funny Nigel 😊 I hope you captured it with your camera! We certainly feel that way in the winter in Vancouver. Sometimes weeks of dampness and forlorn faces in coffee shops.

        Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you Roland, I think you’re correct. This is another piece, like the ‘Windemere’ poem, based on a peak experience. In the former, floating, ears under the water I was excluding the ability to hear and of course in this piece sight. I’ve experimented in my youth with sensory deprivation and found it fascinating .


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