sounds of belted steel crack in the atmosphere, rising mortar fire intermittently bombards the earth, burrowing it’s claw into the green and brown. every few yards glamoured faces rest in the soil, glamoured by what it is they’ve taken in. the line lay not far ahead. you traverse the field with fortitude, purpose, pulse, an immortal. coiled thoughts are muffled on the inside of your skull, but your senses are keen, exceptionally attuned to the rattling and ringing of the ballistics, your jaw shivers with the reverberations of it all as if willing you to consumption. a figure runs some paces ahead of you, a child at it’s side. they move together as if following a secret path, twisting and turning as they go about. the earth before their feet turns black and rises up from an explosion. the green and brown is draped in the blackness of the new fog but the winds eventually take it all away. the figure lays bent across a piece of iron, his legs no longer of use to him. he looks to the sky and tells the child to go, beacon of kin, to reach the line. moisture gathers in the child’s eyes and her face becomes sour and disagreeable in protest. she shoves against the bent figure with all her force in vehemence. you feel a passiveness as you look on. another explosion rakes into the earth and before you can blink both figures have gone, swallowed by the green and brown.
you continue on your way but feel a sadness for what you have seen. you wonder if in all this vision, this place has any partiality for its dwellers. you feel a warmth growing inside of you, you welcome the previously intrusive sounds, the winds brush you with a coolness instead of harshness, you begin to feel aware of a logic to this place as you go, you see timelessness, transience, wonder. you see all of the explosions, the bodies, the steel, as patterns which occur and disperse, leading to new occurrences and dispersals, pressing newer and newer, a necessary and inevitable cycle, essence of the green and brown. the warmth inside of you grows to an incredible sensation, your sense of smell even returns to you and you sense a burning. smoke rises from your chest as you lower your fingers to touch the blazing fragment lodged into your bone, the logic of it all overwhelming you now, its wonder hampering your balance even, your eyes seeing every molecule melded into the next like an exquisite painting. and you know that all the faces you’ve passed, the reception of your senses, the figures you’ve observed, all are one, a brotherhood to meet again in a little while now, all pathways converged, your humble destiny, in the bosom of the green and brown.
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