Red

Red

A solid foot cannot trump the wandering eye from constant search for a crisper green, and the fence in the foreground promises a fresh start.

But the horizon is farther than it appears, and there, the grass grows untamed and wild.

The home of Mojave Rattlesnakes and foothold traps, the grass is thick, dark and restricting.

The unknown is enticing but the path home becomes lost.

The path out goes, un-found.

Your feet, able to escape sight, struggle and clamor through knots of blades,

Nipping savagely at you ankles.

The eyes you once trusted sit below the green, smothered by color and lack of landmark.

The grass may be greener, but you bleed the same red.

Unsafe grows the uncertainty beyond the horizon.

The slightly browned, unchaste grass of your past’s appeal has never been so great.