This place used to be full of people, but now is empty.

Now it’s solely populated by sunflowers and purple pebbles of lavender, by fowl and finches, and by thousands of unseen insects and creatures that roam and inhabit the golden fields.

Now you go there to get away.

To lay in the rare stretches of open green, with your arms and legs outstretched and your face tilted towards the sun.

It isn’t hot, but there’s a slight warmth which you can only feel if you’re still–if you were to walk about, the wind would overpower the sun’s tempered heat.

So you lay still and stare at the sky’s blue and slowing moving fluffy whites. Each has a different form, each comes and goes.

You don’t gaze at the flowers because you know their perfumed presence without the aid of sight.

You close your eyes with the sun still warming your face and inhale, letting the rustles of leaves and the occasional buzzes in your ear be your only encounters.

After a while, you sit up dazed,

Unconscious of the passage of time–you could have lay there for minutes or hours.

With these summer days, time is a choice that comes in an undivided mass–the only factors marking its passage are the sun and the moon.

You turn back towards the house and are reminded of the echoes of those who lived there once–their laughter, their raised voices too.

You let the thought slip away and return to your surroundings.

Here you can just observe

Without prying eyes or unwelcome pleas.

Everything exists harmoniously. 

You watch a little brown bird perched and chippering away.

He stills and quiets with an almost somber and knowing gaze outwards.
The moment lapses quickly—he’s summoned by his brothers or friends.

And so when you return to your singular abode, lighter, emptier,

You reflect on how this place used to be full of people, but now is empty.