The Field

By

THE FIELD

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What is now

has not always been

There used to be a field. A beautiful, lush emerald green, grass field. I can’t remember it ever being grazed by sheep or cattle, but I suppose it must have been at som time as there was a large stone drinking trough in it. It was down in the bottom corner, beneath an imposing old Oak tree, that seemed to me, to be standing guard over this green oasis. During the Spring and early Summer the field went through a huge transition in what seemed a matter of just a few days. My walk to school was no longer a chore and I began to view the changes with ever widening eyes.

As the days lengthened and got warmer so the grass grew taller, but it wasn’t just green that greeted me each morning. Slowly at first, a change began to take place. It started with with a few yellow buttercups appearing and then the odd purple and blue of thistle and forget-me-not, with pink cranesbill not far behind. More flowers showing each day, the yellows of trefoil and dandelion, to be quickly joined by a few pink field orchids, bright red campion and still more yellow as cowslips joined the show.

These in turn looked up to ox-eye daisies and brilliant scarlet poppies. The grass too had begun to change as silver seed heads hung down heavily and gently nodded and swayed in the light breeze.

All of a sudden as if magically the field had changed, almost as though an artist had accidentally spilt his paints over a huge green canvas, but unlike a painting the scene was ever changing.

The grass growing taller, and the flowers fighting to keep their place in the sun. Each day new ones appearing and others disappearing as there job was done. As the sun grew stronger with each passing day the canvas became framed by the white flowers of elder and hawthorn which had now filled the hedgerows surrounding the field. The heady scent having an almost hypnotic effect and the mass display of flowers promising a bumper crop of berries come the Autumn.

As the field bloomed in a myriad of colours, insect life now became abundant and bees could be seen dancing from one flower to the next. Butterflies came to join the vibrant scene chasing one another over a multi-coloured playground. Red admirals, peacocks, ringlets and a never-ending parade of whites added their elegance and grace, as the picture became alive with movement. The hedgerows filled with the noise of newly hatched chicks of blackbird, dunnock and wren. The eager chicks demanding yet another meal from their overworked parents. The clear blue skies were filled with swallows feeding up on the abundant insect life as they waited their turn to raise a family.

I can see the whole picture now as I write this down, it’s all there right down to the tiny pink orchid. It’s such a shame that the field isn’t. It has been gone quite a few years now taken away by mans ever increasing march into the countryside. The only greens, blues and yellows remaining now are brightly shining cars and garishly painted front doors. The only pinks on show are the uniformly laid out straight lines of geraniums and roses. Gone is the long grass to be replaced by gravel drives and neatly manicured lawns with not even a daisy in sight. All together in a frame of black tarmac and grey concrete.

There used to be a field….

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Comments

7 Sep, 2010
Photo-0003_29
sixpence said:

Yes sadly this is now increasing rapidly all over the uk, for we are the most over crowed in the whole of europe, beautiful tale to keep for the grand children who perhaps when older won't know what a green field is. I wrote a poem not unsimular to this years ago, as I could see what was comming with what had changed already.

Disappering Nature.

I lay upon a carpet,thats soft and fresh and green,
I close my eyes under the willow and this is what I do dream,
A land thats sweet with aroma,a fresh and pleasent land,
As if smokey smelly exhaust fumes,have gone with a wave of a hand,
A butterfly elusive flying through the air,
The bees are making honey they don't seem to care,
The rabbits in their warren, the mice and moles and rats,
They're running around the field, they're running from the cats,
A baby fold sucking from it's mother,the lambs are lambing with the spring,
Hark hark listen the blackbird is about to sing,
Then I awake and realize it was just a dream,
There now stands a motorway instead of fields and a flowing stream.cr Sixpence.

10 Sep, 2010
P1150022_1
jane said:

Another very moving piece of writing...and so true.It makes me wonder just where all this will lead.
Sixpence...also very thought-provoking...and sad to think of all the disappearing wildlife.

10 Sep, 2010
Photo-0003_29
sixpence said:

Yes it is sad to think Jane.

10 Sep, 2010
P1150022_1
jane said:

I know...x

11 Sep, 2010
Photo-0003_29
sixpence said:

:o))

13 Sep, 2010
Dipper
david said:

There used to be a filed just like this, across the road from a former home. It was just as you have so marvellously described the one above. It, too, is now built-over, with 65 houses crammed shoulder-to-shoulder over 3 streets. :-(((

Great poem, 6d, lovely images are conjured up by your words, too.

15 Sep, 2010
Photo-0003_29
sixpence said:

Thank you David.

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