Picnic Field

A uniform set of five picnic tables zig-zag through the clearing. It’s a scene frozen in time, untouched except for the weeds that have begun to snake their way between the gaps in the wooden structures. You’re lucky to have caught them as they blossom, white flowers gleaming in the sunlight as they split old oak planks. The grass is at its tallest, about waist height, and if you didn’t know better you’d think it was trying to cling to you as you wade through it.