Field Mouse

by Erik Lundgren

In a pasture, a man was resting atop a slab of granite like it really was his own bed at home. Long grass waved to and fro in front of his eyes. The sky was the deepest blue.

He was a little bit afraid – he wasn’t sure whether to call if “afraid” – of the way he seemed to find himself alone on another planet. The life on this planet was grass. It spoke to him. He didn’t know if it was nice.

Towering clouds bloomed really, really far away everywhere. He felt like a mouse gazed on by many cats. He needed to go home and watch the news.