The Meadow

Waiting for me on the other side is the owner of the calm voice who encouraged me during the crossing. Smiling, I hold my hand out to her.

“Boy, am I glad that’s over. I’m Shannon. I know we’ve met before, but I was too shaken to properly introduce myself. I’m glad to see you again and have the opportunity to set things right.”

“I’m Irene. It’s nice to have you here. No need to apologize about before, I’ve been through some rooms like the ones you walked through and I think I emerged feeling much the way you did. You seemed to need food, drink and rest more than conversation, so I was happy to oblige.”

“Yes, that was exactly how I was feeling. Thanks for understanding that. Is this where you live? I’d love to have a backyard like this!” I say as I gesture to the lush meadow surrounding us.

Irene smiles and says, “No, this isn’t my home, but I do enjoy it here. Would you like to look around? There’s something I think you’d enjoy seeing, if you’re in no rush to move on.”

Assuring her that I am in no rush at all, we begin to walk through the meadow. It’s the best time of year to do so: the wildflowers are a riot of color, the wind is cool without chill and the sun bathes everything in a glow of light. Winter’s greys, browns and whites are nowhere to be found. Just color, color and more color. It’s hard to believe this awaited me around the corner from my crevice, which was day upon day of grey. Yet I find the rampage of color leaving me dazed. After days of being safely enclosed, the meadow’s lack of confinement is startling. The variety of colors and flowers excites, but also exhausts. I find my attention flitting from place to place, with nowhere to settle and stay for a moment. While I know this is not a battlefield, I am relieved to reach the safety of the woods.