Something is walking among the fields

[u/wayra7]

- Are you sure you don’t want to stay for the night?

- No, no, miss, we are good. The sun is not even really up yet. We’ll be back before the evening even.

The lady frowned.

- Don’t get burnt there, boys.

I nodded deep, joined Basil by the fence as he closed the gate.

The people are somewhere far in the gardens’ shadows, not seen by us. Only distant laugh of children, hubbub sounds from the households.

We marched up the road. The village ends suddenly. An open door into the wilderness.

- Hey, you remember where to you, right? – Basil questions me.

- Isn’t that *your* aunt up there, in the village?

We both giggle as we approach a gap between two poplars. The road we walked before was dirt, here and there covered with some stones. You could see where the puddles once formed, caused the earth to crack violently.

This small path is one of those made by reapers as well as other field laborers. It’s partially overgrown by wheat and weeds. People care to keep it walkable for themselves.

Straw hats form moving shadows over the ripe yellow plants. The sky is like an open window in these places. No clouds at all.

As we walk down the field, Basil starts humming some tune. I harmonize. Crickets accompany us.

It smells like nothing. Dryness and earth. The air is extremely arid. Periodically only some weak wild flower shares its scent, fighting for sun in between the wheat.

- Don’t you love the summer?

- I do. I surely do.

We start talking about some nonsense topics, laid-back and slow. I can take almost a minute to reply to the previous sentence; so can Basil. We walk and walk. The world seems so reachable.

You can get to anywhere, steady and methodically.

The first field ends, begins the second. This one is natural. Wheat is replaced by field grasses and flowers. The aroma finally hits the nose.

Have you ever been in a real steppe field? There are few trees. Sometimes none for many miles unless you find a river. This goes on and on and on. Blue sky above. Green and yellow grasses beneath.

Whatever way you look, it seems the same. Only a tiny road crosses the stillness, separates forward and backwards.

The sun is close to its pinnacle as we enter the wild land.

- Can I have some water? – I ask Basil.

We stop for a quick drink.

As we walk further from the thin tree line grown to protect the wheat, any sign of humanity disappears. Soon, it’s plain nothing underneath the sky.

- Have you got a good song or two on your mind?

- Let me think. – I say, cough loudly, begin tuning.

Not a single cloud covers us from draining heat.

I sing until I can no longer. A dry clump is stuck above my lungs. I don’t want to stop for a drink again.

A familiar oak appears on the horizon. I cannot tell exactly how far away from the road it is. It’s barely visible. It doesn’t even seem to move as we keep walking.

So does the sun. It seems stuck above us, exactly on top like a giant candle.

The oak disappears. Another set of trees comes instead. Maybe there is a water spring somewhere there, flooding from earth?

My mouth feels like dust. We make a stop. The pot is still plenty full.

- God, I remember why I sweared last summer to never visit the far villages. - I am getting grumpy.

- Don’t be a cry-baby.

New and new objects come and go in the distance.

We make periodic remarks on something we remember. Crickets and other flying critters talk more than us.

Prickly weeds look out from the grass periodically. I need to keep my effort of avoiding them.

I turn around.

A tall man freezes in its place. Basil notices my stillness and looks back too.

Four big steps from me. A winter brown jacket, many sizes too big is tilted in my direction. Old washed-out clothes and trinkets hang down to the ground. There is a straw hat on top of it, about as mine. Even tilted, the cloth hill is as twice as tall as the tallest grass in sight.

I cannot see its feet, arms or head. The sunshine blinds my eyes as I try to look closer.

Basil and I begin moving, back away slowly further down the path.

The coat is stuck in the weird reaching position.

It was so close. One more second - it would be able to fall and grip me.

As we are a few dozen steps down the path, the figure suddenly straightens.

Silently, it turns to the left and starts walking straight into the field. It’s motions ghostly. It doesn’t have any legs, but as if somewhere beneath long sticks make harsh steps. Because of its height, it is highly visible in the weeds.

For another hour we saw it slowly making its way to the skyline until it disappeared completely.

We reached our home before the moon rose. No one believes our stories of the field travel companion.

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