Thoughts
A yellow flower sits in a field.
Alone, but for the sun. The sky hangs above, and the dirt hangs below, and the grass flies up between them.
The clouds drift in the currents of the sky, sitting in a field of blue. The wind pulls and stretches and whisks the fluff into strands and swirls, which adorn the dome above.
The ground sweeps away, rolling forward in all directions, moving inexorably towards the horizon.
Heat falls from the sun, sharply and flying into the grass.
There is more, and yet, nothing more.