Where once the dead would tread, Those fields where the grass grew deep… Once, Where the grass grew deep.

Heat rises from the long stretch of asphalt, in waves it rises. The lake water now evaporated from my skin. The lake is my only escape from the boredom, which is my life: days at the lake with my dog, Red. The lake behind us some distance, Red runs along the edge of the woods as though he’s looking for something. A car appears on the horizon, a tiny dot so far ahead of me. Not many cars converse this road since the interstate was completed. Nobody lives in walking distance of us, which means I have a large back yard.

Green grass sways in a gentle breeze and a bird chirps at the edge of the woods. The path to my house is in sight: it runs from the edge of the pavement toward the line of dancing trees. Red vanishes, ahead of me, down this trail. A trail created by years of feet treading where once the grass grew deep. The solitary yellow mailbox is the only visible evidence of the humanity that resides only a short distance within the embrace of trees.

Red’s barking echoes in the distance, a breeze whispers through the woods. And I walk on down the trail of red dirt that will lead me safely home. The car still too far down the road to see whom the driver is: some lost traveler no doubt.

Red’s barking mingles with the sounds of the woods: the sounds too many to distinguish one from the next. The world beyond these trees vanishes within the many voices of the deep. Branches of trees sway around me, like dancing arms, thy dance to the music that both haunts me and fills me with joy. I walk with eyes forward fearing to see would be more frightening than merely hearing.

Day turns to night. From blue sky to purple, and then black with stars. 

Day begins. A new day is here while visions of terrific dreams remain: a blur of things and an instant of clarity that subsides with the rise of the sun.

Red licks my face and a voice in the distant reaches of the house makes me aware of my surroundings. A ray of light shines through the window revealing my solitude. Besides Red I am the only person in my room, yet with a hint from dreams had I could swear that I was not alone.

Mom calls me again. Breakfast is ready. The last remnants of dream fades: haunting images from sleep.

At breakfast a vow of silence is made. All that can be heard are the sounds of us eating. My mom says that breakfast is the best meal of the day; The new day sun coming through the window over the sink, the smell of bacon and pancakes, and our common love or each other and pork sausage. 

Down the road with Red, a song from the radio on my mind, and a day at the lake ahead as the sun rises above our heads. A breeze blows at my back, not cold but soothing none-the-less. The path to the lake is less worn than the one to my house since I am the only one that goes to the lake. The path, not much a path but something close to being a trail. I know it but the trees and how the moss grows. Red knows it as well, but by scent. He wanders ahead of me, smelling, looking at all of the tress. This is our territory and Red is determined to let anyone else know. 

Something is different, odd, and for a second it frightens me. Red seems aware of it as well. He looks at me and barks as if we should head home. I continue to walk as the song remains in my head and every so often I hear the song. It sounds like someone is singing it but I know that I am alone.