As The Sun Rose Over a Field

The sun sat high and hot over a field, bleaching the colour from the surroundings. And butterflies hovered skittishly by the bluebells that scattered the fringes of the colourless field, their blue petals now heavy, in contrast to their surrounding, swayed in a morning breeze; it was late autumn in England.

Tufts of dried and brittle grass, coarse and lifeless, clung forlornly to the baked hard mud fields and flies buzzed here as if drawn by some faint hope of moisture, the heat gripped all life mercilessly, scorching the plains and other than the one man, not a soul was to be seen.