The Meadow in June: Grass-high wandering through a humming field

Edwin Marsh

A field in June hums before it ever comes into view, all insects and wind and warmth rising off the grass. This is a slow walk through that meadow: seed heads bending at shoulder height, bees working clover row by row, the particular quiet that settles when the breeze drops. Written to be listened to with your eyes closed, it moves at the pace of walking, not arriving anywhere in particular, content to let the field be enough.