Saturday Afternoon Writing

Below is an excerpt of what I wrote this afternoon. I thought it might be nice to share.

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His thoughts were muddled with the sound of leaves like a hive of bees. Eyes closed, darkness encasing all sides, Kevin listened.

Air was cool, changing. Heat and breeze was between each breath through mouth, coursing through lungs and limb before returning to the night. Kevin could feel the world waking, leaves breathing, and roots drinking. It was all different. On nights like this all he could do was leave his house, lie on Greene Field, listen, and feel. He tried sleeping, lying in bed ignoring the sounds, but like the summer before, the pull was too strong. He had to leave. If not, the whispers became screams, refusing to be ignored, until he stepped from the front door to the open field.

And that’s where he was, staring into the specs of white in the sea of black overhead, listening to the murmur on the other side and feeling the grass against his skin.

He enjoyed this time alone. The town was quiet, unknowing. The darkness closed around the trees and houses, muffling his footsteps as he walked along the deserted sidewalks and gentle breathes as he lay on the grass. He knew the shadows on the other side of dark windows and more than those who lived behind their locked doors. He never wondered, or wished he knew, what they dreamed or wished. Here, in this world of sounds and silence he was content.

On nights like this he would lay on the field for hours, absorbing the song of leaves moving in the distance on the white oak in the center courtyard, and wait…Eventually, he would sleep and fragments of phrases and faces would appear abruptly and out of sequence. At first it happened few and far between, but now it happened whenever he seemed to close his eyes, creating a story with unfamiliar characters and names such as Kara, Thomas, and Alice in a place and time much different from now. Their lives, conversations, feelings, and emotions would appear one after the other until just before sunrise when he would make his way back into bed before anyone noticed him gone.

Most nights this was the routine and this night was no exception. He lay in the grass, clutching the diary, hoping for the images of the people he had seen mature and grow, people he had grown used to seeing as family, people he had grown to love. Only tonight was different. He was so focused on the murmur of the rustling leaves and need to dream he never heard Jennifer walk across the field and stand at the base of his feet.