Out to meet you.

This one, this is one of those days. One where the yellow of wheat fields being cut folds into the air with the smell of forests. A cicada somewhere nearby wiggles its weightless ribs together. And even though you feel the weighty heat of the sun brightening your hair, you catch the spare, strange drop of rain on your arm. Within it all, your walking feet landing upon the open world, you feel you just don't know at all. And you can't tell whether it's coming from all that out there, or from all this in here. And then you feel another drop fall onto your swinging arm.