I pick a piece of grass and examine it closely, the green glistening in a ray of sun. Not particularly beautiful, unless you call it so. I try chewing it: it tastes awful to me, so I spit it out.
The dog comes back to me with a stick, a brown stick. I throw it, he runs after it, tongue lolling, as they are wont to do.
I am not necessarily happy here, reflecting on life and its complications, but I am content. That is a start. Happiness requires effort, concentration and above all luck. I only have so much of each to give.
A cow moans in the next field, a cry of pain. It is calving I see, a couple of feet emerging even as I watch. This is life, in a paradigm, no buildings, tools or even words. Actions around me are brief, contained and necessary, nought more. That�s what we were bred for.
A flying seed wafts towards me and I catch it in my hand, savouring the joy of such simple success: a catch.
Once again, it isn�t beautiful, it simply is. That�s all it has to be. I wish upon it, wish for more of them.
My deep breaths bring a mixed smell of grass, water and cow, not a perfume, but a smell. It isn�t a pleasant smell or an unpleasant one: it is merely a smell.
Then I hear an aeroplane in the distance, coming our way. The dog becomes agitated, runs back up towards me, afraid of the noise. He snuggles into my chest, using my shirt to hide his eyes and ears from the beast. I cuddle him tight, his uncomplicated desires easy to fulfil.
The plane passes with time, we are left alone once more, and dog walks off, tail in the air.
As I stand to walk off myself, my time here over, the electricity pylons come into view once more. They aren�t ugly; they are sections of metal placed to do a job. They simply are, and that is all you can ask. Even the labels I have already given them are restrictive.
These words are restrictive also, so I shall end them. Breathe, reflect, as you like. Remember whatever you like, think what you like, label as you like. It doesn�t matter to the words; they are mere inventions. They simply are.