The Bones of a Meadow

I had walked past it many times before, plotting its story so different every time; Like a daydream I couldn't let go of. There was something in the flowing golden field that lent itself to those grey tattered bones like a fallen god, stripped of its gilded title. Its not unusual to play make believe as a child but I rarely did as an adult; still, broken with time, this barn beckoned its own epoch.

I remember the first time I stumbled across it, on a walk through the woods during a periwinkle sunrise. Who knows where I was coming from or where I was going, that didn't seem to matter. The light struggled to breach the horizon and the trees bent like old bones over the dirt road. The brew of shadows and fog in the morning colors led me to a concealed path that eventually expanded into a meadow. It was a new sensation that I couldn't quite put my finger on. I felt soft and sleepy, like floating on clouds. I remember the wonder of my soul piercing through the crisp morning air while everything stood still. Miles above my body, I finally stopped to take in the view.

My heart fluttered as I drew in a slow breath.

The backdrop of massive mountains felt like bodies of ancient guardians. The morning light began peaking through their shoulders as a child testing their confidence behind the comfort of their mother would. I felt welcome and I wanted to welcome it. I caught the soft morning dew flirting with the sun as they courted each other. The slow-dance of leaves orchestrated by the wind caught me in a trance as it waved me over like an old friend.

I'm home, was my fleeting thought.

Off in the distance sat the out-of-place ruins. It was the destination. I feared it, though it was calling me.

Like the intricacies of a spiders web, each board spun its own tale. And I wanted to listen. Stories of the past dug deep into the frail wood: memories of lost lovers; anthologies of a humble artist; treasured remains of a life long gone. It dawned on me that I was spacing out to the point of believing these ideas. There was a back-and-forth with reality and fiction, my mind the tipping point.

The first day there were young children, ethereal and playful. Linking arms, they swung and bounced in circles in the field near the broken down barn. Their familiar laughs echoed through my hollowed head till they faded to silence. I felt a certain bliss for a just a moment. I rubbed my eyes to find my reality. They were gone as quickly as they appeared, leaving me wondering how such a vivid hallucination played through my eyes and sounded through my ears. It was early and I must have still been tired. Or lost in the beauty of the moment... Had I been playing a game with myself? This place sure did have an intoxicating magic to it.

It quickly became routine visiting this meadow, with new scenes playing out every time. Similar children, different moments. There were sad days and mischievous days, always finding the right weather to match. To add to the surreal nature of it, each day the visit to the meadow happened to be a slightly later time than the last. It was like clockwork.

I must be losing my mind.

There came a time when I felt more rooted to the meadow than I did my own life. Just like the fading of the day, reality became a blend of shadowed thought.

Eventually, everything started to lose its importance. At first, I felt like my daily life was enriched after each visit. Always thinking of the meadow, wondering who was waiting. I went from being late to life to not showing up at all. I forgot to care. I needed the meadow. In a similar fashion went friends, then family; having found those comforts in the mind of the meadow and bones of the barn. Losing the things you care about takes a tole. Melancholic memories would find me from time to time. It was never easy when they did but they never stayed long. The meadow made sure of it.

By midday the scenes were more dynamic and the figures were more complicated; both in feeling and purpose. A young man keeled over in panic, clenching pages of importance a few feet from the barn. Beguiled, I called out to him as he faded. There was a sense of nostalgia, or maybe just common ground. A few days later just outside the aging barn door, lovers embraced in a last goodbye as if neither of them wanted it. I cried out and ran to them, urging them to reconsider, while the dust of their love glittered to the ground. The pain I felt rivaled the deepest parts of my own life, which was less than a blur by now anyway. At least I felt something.

More days passed and the sun slowly arched around the sky. I grew attached to the things I saw.

There was a man in the barn today, staring through the window closest to the door. Strangely, this was the first time I had seen anyone actually in the barn. It was also the first time the barn stood tall, free of dilapidation. I couldn't tell if the barn had never fallen apart or if it was different every day. How had I not noticed? My gaze flowed from the barn back to the man. His eyes met mine and I felt seen for the first time that I could remember. There was a light greyish- purple hue that emanated from him.

My thoughts began to tumble around in my head, for what felt like could be the last time as my own:

Today is just before dusk. At least what I can still remember of the day is nearing dusk, as the meadow seems to steal time otherwise. I am starting to believe this is the only thing I know and the rest of my life is a deconstructing dream slowly fading away. Sharply, a sadness had consumed me as the last shred of my mortal coil presented itself in passing. I returned to my inner ramblings. The meadow has given me so many memories anyway. I know I will play todays reel and assume the role of a viewer, caught up in every moment of the show. It consumes me and I am at peace with it. It is a funny moment, when you relinquish all of your power. Today is that day for me, tonight is my night.

"Still waiting for the stars?" came a probing voice.

A bolt of terror sliced through me. Could he really see me? It took a few moments for the nausea to pass. I finally let out a strained and barely audible thought. "I do crave them" I hadn't heard my voice in so long that it felt foreign, as if this man was more real than I was. I didn't know if I missed the stars or the darkness. It had been so long since the sun set.

There was something so familiar in his voice..

"We got pretty close this time, eh?" It felt like a father telling his son he played a great game even though they lost.

"Pretty close to what?" The world around me vanished and every fiber of my being latched on to this man. "Who is we?" Thoughts began running through my head like the legs of a millipede.

The man paused for a second, hand around his chin in contemplation. "The stars," he said with a shrug "we always want the stars. We got real close this time." He let out a brief, low chuckle.

There was a long and pensive thought shared between the two of us. His face was much more playful than my narrowed expression. I searched his eyes for the answers to this riddle. I broke eye contact and cocked my head down to the left in a sudden thought. Then back up again. My eyes widened in astonishment.

You are me.

"Strange, isn't it?" He let out a sigh. "but not just me" He scanned the area around with raised brows.

It started with that same youthful laughter. Soon I could decipher each passing day and all its people. Everything I knew from the meadow swarmed me at once as I recalled the memories. My memories?

"This is where memories come to wait." He took an exaggerated bow. "Now it's your turn." seeing my confusion he continued "Each memory has a recollection of events that precede it. Think about it, when you recall a memory it often branches into more and more memories. They are all linked. You weren't ready to rest until you played your song all the way through" his fingers danced a tune in front of his face while he whistled.

"What are the stars, why am I.. or we, waiting for them?"

"The sunset is the end of the day. It is the end of our life. All of us yearn for the final memory, the one to release us to the stars."

For what felt like an eternity I sat with my thoughts- as if a memory can think for itself- and remembered why I came here. I was home.

A purplexed, slightly older man stumbled out of the bushes and into the meadow. I let out a low chuckle and walked into the barn.