A man in a long coat stands in a field on a narrow path surrounded by tall grasses yellowing in the late autumn sun. His shadow stretches and slants in front of him bending upward at the path’s edge. The sky is a shade of blue so rich and thick that it seems mismatched for how thin and cool the air feels. If there are clouds, they are little more than drifts and wisps. The barn in the distance is weathered and gray and nearby is a farmhouse in the shade of a lone tall maple – the kind of tree that shades half the house in the afternoon or might be struck down by lightening in a wicked summer storm. Beneath the arc of landscape, just below what the man can see, lies a dirt road that cuts and weaves past the row of mailboxes lined up at the only intersection between the house and town.
All of this, the sky and colors and the sound of grass waving in the wind is mere distraction – images and verbal trickery to keep you from thinking about the shadowy figure and his intentions standing tall in an open field. How did he get there? Where is he headed? By now, you’ve assumed that the house and the barn are not his.
This is the intimacy that we are building – you and I. A level of trust in my ability to take you somewhere. This is also where I feel I should take leave and let you ask your questions and fill in the gaps. Is this his boyhood home? Who’s in the house? What happens next? If he had a dog, he’d seem less threatening. Was there frost on his car in the morning? Did he come a long way? And why the long coat?