Field of Nothing

Along our shared driveway, beyond our house and our back pasture is a field of nothing.

One of the neighbors owns it — a plot of wavy grassland that isn’t lawn or yard. It’s never cut for hay or fenced in for horses. It just “there” — a field of no man’s land sandwiched between a gravel drive and a wooded creek bed. Years ago the landowner lumped a pile of deadwood, debris and other organic debris into a giant mound of yard waste, but that’s settled into the soil. Now it serves as a haven for mice, moles, ground hogs and god knows what; it’s a favorite haunt for our cats who hike through the back pasture and stake out the mound for signs of life.

Last night, amidst a balmy blast of summer, Martin and I wandered down there in the dark, trailed by the dog and a brigade of barn cats. Martin was the first to collapse, staking claim to the strip of mowed grass along the drive. He stretched out as though he was lying in bed. I sat indian style nearby and admired the field of nothing that I never gave a glance. It’s so close to our house — practically see in the windows but removed all the same.

can hear the cats sauntering through the high grass like lions and mel our lazy cat purring between breaths. a distant dog barking and tree frogs tuning up by the friver. distant car, distant plane and horses snorting between bites.

it is peaceful. remids me of aamp… And in a haze of Monday fatigue we collapsed on the strip of mowed grass along the drive and just listenedWe share our driveway with a smattering of other farm houses and on the way from one home to another is a field of nothing.

A neighbor owns it — a plot of grassland that’s neither lawn or yard, horse pasture or crop. It’s unfenced