Fascinated by my uncle's cornfield, I made up my mind to explore the field before dinner. I expected to find all sorts of hidden treasures and planned to get lost in its beauty.
The corn beyond the garden.
Leaving my mother and cousin behind to collect vegetables, I pressed on toward the field, convinced with each step closer that I was about to discover a perfect oasis.
A few steps later, awkwardly squeezing my way between cornstalks, I found myself with little space, much less air, protuberances clutching and pressing on my neck no matter how I turned, and an overwhelming volume of rustling noise and the color green.
I'm still unsure what compelled me to walk deeper than the first row. I had a earie sense of being cornered, stalked, and like nothing would leaf me alone, all at once.
A while later, I finally escaped the corn barricade, profoundly grateful to feel the wind blowing and for the ability to run away from a flying insect in any direction I wished. I wholeheartedly rejoiced the world contains colors other than corn-stalk green... and vegetables other than corn, for that matter.
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