A Field of Flowers & My Mother’s Windchimes

A Field of Flowers

It’s a most beautiful day
With a cloudless azure sky
The sun beating down, drowning everything in a golden bath
The air perfumed with the scent of wild lemongrass and earthy weeds
The prairie continuing for miles around us, a huge circle with no end
Gophers pop their striped, velvety heads from a hole and dart around,
 bounding from rock to rock
Rabbits, with their ears as soft as roses,
 hopping with their bushy tails waving in the cool breeze
Our fingers intertwined as we watch the afternoon unfold, our hands creased
Dust motes twinkle in the air, spinning softly and landing on the dry ground
Crickets chirping, boisterously chatting with one another
The river flowing through the land, the clear water carrying the swirling dirt
across thousands of miles.
Sunflowers wave in the wind behind us to invisible music,
their yellow petals glistening in the light, their centers dark and prominent
Tiny cornflowers tickle our feet, smiling up at us
You look deeply in my eyes, seeing the reflection of the fields of sunflowers
Standing up, you take out a pair of rusty red gardening shears from your pocket,
severing one’s stem
You place it in my hand, closing my fingers around the fuzzy green stalk,
and whisper, “Here is the place where I love you.”

My Mother’s Windchimes

The sound whispers in the wind on silent nights outside my window
Rustling at the slightest blow
Tinkling softly like my shallow breaths
Glistening, slick with the rain, gleaming in the moonlight
A symphony so sweet and transient
Fleeting and evanescent, the symbol of balance
No wind, no noise, too much wind, a cacophony of dissonant pitches
One leading a note to the next, octaves and fifths galore
The wind dies down, and all I hear are the soft clinks
Of my mother’s favorite wind chimes.

Richa Gode
Age 14, Grade 9
Hunter College High School
Gold Key

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