Where Are the Fields

by Marilla Hess

Where are the fields where I can sing to all the larks in sight,
And wade through cold rivers by the chilly light
Or run with all my might against the blowing horns
Of the wind calling through the canyons?

I called and called and called,
But no answer played across the long glass doors
Or the marble stairs, or the stained oak floors,
That I tread past. Echoing, leafless, walled.

Marilla loves new adventures, old folk songs, travel, and watching people overcome their fears.

Photography by Kenneth Godoy