I return to the field.

Brambles and vines cringe,

as if to say, "Not again."

The stars peek over the edge

of the expanse

to see if there is movement.

I wait in the tall grasses,

planted like a monument for patience.

Breeze tugs at my sweater,

while crickets gather their evening choirs

and clouds unfold in blanket layers.

I look up

as the gold and rose puffs

gather like sheep that were once scattered.

Tonight is the night.