There is a field with tones of brown and gold, with islands of bark, intermingled with their stories of old.
As I hike through its grasses, I see signs of the past, when men and their families walked in tall grass.
They hunted and killed, they built houses with trees. I could see all of this through the slow falling leaves.
It is time for solace, time to relax, as I walk through this field and its history filled grass.
They had come by the many to create a new life by this amazing field that I now hike. Each with a struggle, each with a path, I can still see them as I stand in this field of gold grass.
The seasons are changing, the colors now white as I think of those people, their struggles and plight.
The field now empty and the lakes are like glass as I stand alone in this field of tall grass.