Poppies

In my dreams I am standing alone in a field of poppies.

Blood-red velvet heads with black black hearts sway gently around me in time with the breeze. Undulating silently, softly, nature breathing and beating in rhythm.

It is a clear day. The sun, so high in the sky, is warm as I lift my face to it. The sky, so bright it is blue but almost white, soars and surrounds. A silent prayer of thanks, I am grateful for this peace. All I can see for miles is the vivid contrast of azure and red. Red with the black black heart.

Walking nowhere, my hands brush the flower heads, petals cool to the touch. Silken drowsy softness of the day, the poppyheads sway. I am drunk on the silence, the peace, the solitude. I realise I am barefoot, crimson petals crushed beneath my toes as I leave a red carpet in my wake. Snaking through the field, a path of blood.

A thundercrash, a lightning stroke. My hands brushing flower heads suddenly drip with blood. The sky darkens in an instant and I look wildly about me. Poppies are no longer dancing delicately, they are swaying madly. Wild waves crash through the field, each thunderclap in unison with the crest. The black black hearts are suddenly eyes, they watch. They know. They judge. I cannot escape, even here; the path I trod is no longer there as the poppies close in on every side. Feverishly panicking, I swing my head from side to side, searching a lifeline, a rescue.

You.

The scene freezes like a still in a movie as you stand amidst the chaos, lit from within.

You. My eyes meet yours and I am instantly calm. Your hand reaches to me and the hostile poppies part, the Red Sea parting for my saviour. I run to you, you are there for me. We intertwine, become one, and the storm is gone. The serene field breathes a sigh of relief as our hands and minds link and we wander carefree.

In my dreams, we are walking together through a field of poppies.