Phantom Fields - An Unheard Mezzo Fugue

In the golden haze of forgotten summers, a train whistle echoed eerily, slicing through the tall grass that hummed secrets of yesteryears.

Memories of a carnival ghost, reflected in the laugh of a child not yet dreamed.

A shadow dances among the rows, tracing flickering points of light like distant stars on a summer's evening.

Whispers of bread and butter, served under the watchful gaze of a grandmother unknowable.

Scattered beneath an infinite sky, the grain whispers symphonies in a language older than the earth itself.

Rantings written in pen ink of blue, an unwinding of lines foremost in a forgotten attic.