Wheat Fields Under Thunder

Wheat Fields Under Thunder by Ian Ernzer

I look to the horizon, where bulbous clouds radiate a soft glow onto everything around. The sky and clouds look like they’re within arms’ reach. I feel like I am in a gigantic terrarium, though I walk to the seemingly closer horizon, I continue to be equally as far from it. I don’t have a sense of time as it is impossible to tell; it’s looked like sunset for many days now—though I cannot see nor have I seen a sun in the sky. Ambient sounds echo and resonate through the air. I do not know where the sounds are coming from; I seem to be in an open field with big, round, soft, and smooth trees that shine like plastic. Only pastel colors exist here, where they subtly fuse and morph into each other if I stare long enough. I step onto the green grass, which is soft and feels like a foamy cushion; I want to walk forever on it. I feel like I am in a Wheat Field Under Thunderclouds. I can hear melodies blowing on my skin, traveled with the warm wind.