Feb. 16, 1993
The heat is just beginning and I am wading through waves of waist-high grass; gem-green grasshoppers and dun-colored crickets leap before me, a thin parade. I disturb a family of quail, their heads bobbing madly as they run from me and disappear like phantoms into the thick grass. At first, I think that I am just searching, like I did in childhood summers, for pheasants, golden-eared pheasants, with burnished coats of rajah's jewels and sweeping tails to hide their ugly feet, but I am really crossing to be with you, standing on the other side of the struggling field, your hair bright with summer, your eyes like aquamarines, or maybe blue topaz, a shining, unidentifiable stone. You are waiting for me to reach you in your sleep- worn jeans while the crickets congregate around your bare, brown feet.
© Jessica Minier Mabe