The Barbed Barrier

The verdant bushes litter the browning grasses of the fields. The wind rattles through the mounds of dirt like a child gently blowing out candles of a birthday cake. A barrier of linked barbs divides the busy streets from the quiet, peaceful cow pastures. The scent of fresh air and manure collide in a turmoil of unique experiences: some days crisp air dominates the landscape, although more often than not the cows bring a less amiable aroma.
The barbed wire—rusted and neglected, broken and weathered, sharp and unkempt—displays the dividing point of my favorite field. Trees litter the perimeter of the grassy region giving the field a sense of security. The occasional wild mushroom looks appetizing if sautéed, although I’m sure the taste would be quite the polar opposite. The mushrooms bring a feeling of rebellion to the whole orchestra of greens, along with the numerous wild flowers. Speckles of red, orange, and blue paint the field and the black and white spots of cows grazing adjacent to each other compliment the looks.
The tall grass flows gently through my hands when I grasp a patch. There is a mixture of dried grass, coarse grass, silky grass, healthy grass. In a single area I can get a plethora of feelings, along with possibly lady bug crushed in my palm. The blades provide a dynamic view to the whole scenery with the collaboration of colors.
A path of pebbles and dirt circles around a hill standing before the barbed-wire fence in a phalanx. The path comes to a ditch in which a seemingly ethereal bridge covers up the gap of air. This particular bridge is where I like to enjoy the scenery. The wooden railing manages to sustain my weight as I perch myself atop it eating a delicious cream cheese bagel. This is my source of inspiration; this is the place in which I may allow my mind to wonder to the far reaches of my brain. The sensation of peace brings out a deeper thought from inside the maze of nerves inside my brain.
The setting as a whole brings a serene feel. The only sound to be heard is the gentle push of the wind. Like a monastery, the field brings a sense of peace in which my mind is free to roam and wander over past events. I tend to think of it as a sanctuary of wonder.
The barbed barrier provides my mind with a sense of wonder to what’s behind it. Where, how, what—words like those infiltrate my mind as I stand facing the open pasture. I think what because I’m curious to see where the acres of open land would take me if I were to venture past the wiry fence. My mind cannot begin to fathom each an every nook and cranny created by nature. Unfortunately, I am unable to explore the land for the fence disables me to do so.
I think where because I have no idea where the land covers. For all I know, the field could contain hills and fortresses and hidden relics and ancient historical monuments and even mounds of gold. The land itself is so vast it can do nothing but mesmerize me in wonder.
Lastly, I think how. Many questions of “how” strike me when I reminisce about the plot of land. For example, one of the most common ones are “How did this place become what it is?” The field seems so immeasurable and open that I wonder how the field was never inhabited besides the few grazing cows. Although I wonder why the area was never industrialized, I am quite thankful for the place being as empty as it is. It allows me to think in peace and just appreciate the little things I receive from other people.
This rickety barrier really provides the field its qualities. The mystery behind it divides the blaring car horns and over industrialization of the world from the quiet natural environment beyond the fence. Nothing seems to stimulate my thoughts quite like my sanctuary of wonders does. The placement of the trees gives me a protective cage to hide from the stress of life and the barbed barrier is a television waiting to have an image formed in front of it.

--Alex