He wondered who he really was, and what that meant. To wonder. To not know for sure. Or not admit what he did know. Maybe.
The shadows shifted, obscuring the horizon. When it was the horizon he tried to see. The sun shone bright and he lowered himself to the field, always staring at the ground. Away from the dark spot in the distance.
Between the blades of grass, ants tore a moth apart. One holding, another yanking. First the wings, then the legs. Creating small bits they could carry more easily.
He hoped that didn’t mean anything in particular.
Prompt courtesy of Sue Vincent’s #Writephoto