Out seeing the fields. Briskly, rising to the sky. Cold, clouds rushing past. Flying, hopes to never land. Light. Streatching out my hand. Out seeing the fields. What is a dream and can you tell me what is real? Everyone else is home in bed, and I’m out here lost in my own head, out seeing the fields. Freeze, crystal on the bridge. Trees. Frozen diamond leaves. Ice, stiffening the wheat. Wind, underneath my feet. out seeing the fields. I only feel close to you when I’m under open sky. I only feel guided when I’m free to question why. Only when I smell the earth upon my face, will I ever be free to fly from this place. out seeing the fields Morning, wings against the ledge. Frost trees painted on the glass. Snow, covering the streets. Home, warm beneath my sheets.