were all green, too early we grabbed a couple and put them in our packs anyways, keeping one apiece in our hands to gnaw on sour thick skinned
. By the time we weaved our way to the edge of the field swinging
our legs over the fence, it was growing dim.
We walked up the hill a little ways grass gracing our knees thistles
sometimes scratching. At a nice cozy spot unfolded the blanket, we laid down mashing
flat grass underneath. Sunset creeping in through the evening clouds quiet we watched until it was dark, drowsy we fell into a light sleep pulling the corners of the blanket over ourselves. Dew
on our faces sparkling cold morning sun, gnawing
on small pieces of dense dark bread
not talking really but thinking the same thoughts anyways. Watching the world sleepy still roll in, our own private lonesome.