Canola Field Secrets

He knew at that moment that he loved her. That he would never love another. The wind caressed the canola with its warm hand. She was standing facing him. Her hair was as blonde as the canola fields were yellow. The fields spread as far as he could see, except to the left of him. There, fallen leaves, fresh or mulched, decked the ground. And there, trees as old as the earth itself, climbed, branch by branch, into the sky. “To get from the secrets buried there,” his father said. And there the canola stopped, not wanting to venture into the deep, dark woods. Ziggy slipped her hand into his and gave a slight tug. Then she was running. Chasing the wind where it combed, stroke after stroke, through the golden fields. Gerson watched the wind and her and the lithe canola plants dancing. She giggled as she ran and jumped and spun around, her arms stretched wide to hold up the heavens. The wind whistled as it led her to the forest. And there, at the edge of the woods, behind a tree stood a man, mesmerised. “I must have her,” he thought. Closing his eyes, he propped his head up against the elephantine trunk, “I will have her,” he whispered.