Jordan unexpectedly emerged from the tree-line and stepped out into the field. He blinked in the sudden sunlight and wrinkled his nose slightly as he took in his surroundings. The woods were held at bay by a large irregularly-shaped opening. Knee-deep grass swayed in the wind and stretched into the field where it became interspersed with wildflowers. At the far end of the meadow was a small pond bordered by a few shorter trees. Jordan let out a long, anxious breath. Well now, he thought, this isn’t so bad. He had been really worried there for a while, trudging along through the forest. He had gotten separated from his group somewhere among all those trees. It had been such a thick forest. At least the sky was open out here. He smiled to himself, thinking about the fact that he would never have found this place if he had stayed with the group. He had no idea that this little meadow even existed. He still had no idea where he was, but this seemed a better place to wait for his group than in those oppressive woods. They had been on the move all day and even when they rested, it was quite uncomfortable. A light breeze stirred the warm summer air and cooled his sweaty face. If I have to be lost, he conceded, this is quite a nice place to do it. He decided to wait in the meadow for a while to see if his comrades would find him. Shifting the strap of his pack on his tired shoulder, he stepped into the tall grass.
The day was barely warm. It was one of those nearly surreal spring days that invite men to lay aside their loads for a time. So as Jordan strode through the field of yellows, oranges, and blues in full bloom, that is exactly what he did. Stretching his sore muscles, he let his pack and gear slip off of his shoulder into the sea of grass. It slumped over on the ground, looking like it was resting as well. Why not, Jordan thought, it has been traveling just as long as me. Following the pack’s example, he sank to a sitting position on the soft ground. His legs burned with the comforting feeling of tired muscles stretched out in rest. He rolled his shoulders and tossed his head back, eyes closed. The sun massaged his face with warm fingers. As he sat, Jordan leaned back, resting his head on his pack. He realized rather quickly that he was falling asleep, but he didn’t really mind. The daylight seemed to seep in through his eyelids, so that even his sleeping mind was permeated by the beaming warmth.
As Jordan slept, the meadow seemed to guard his rest. No kind of disturbance marred the field as he slept, nestled in a womb of light and warmth. A nearly intangible breeze gently stirred the grass and branches, a whispered admonition not to wake the tired sojourner. A few birds flitted from tree to tree around the tree-line, but that was all. Time seemed to hang still in the air, waiting for the guest to awaken. After a while, he did.
Jordan woke suddenly into full alertness. His sudden reaction seemed incongruous with the peaceful meadow where all things seemed to happen slowly and calmly. Not surprisingly, when Jordan scanned the field of his rest, he found everything as it had been before he lay down. Checking the position of the sun, he concluded that he had not been asleep long. As evidently his wayward compatriots had not found him, he resolved to remain a while longer in the small haven he had discovered. He became aware of how hot the sun had made him and pulled his water from the pack which was now slightly deformed where his head had rested on it. As he sipped, he decided to refill his dwindling supply. Scooping up his pack, Jordan ambled across the field towards the sheltered pond that glinted sunlight between variegated shadows cast by the protective branches of the low-lying trees. When Jordan approached the water’s edge he noticed, to his delight, that a thin creek dropped down into the pool over a small pebbled embankment, creating a miniscule waterfall. He also marveled at the crystalline clarity and stillness of the water’s surface, rippled and rolled slightly, but never broken, by the breezes that drifted through the air. He knelt down and lifted the water to his mouth in cupped hands. It was cooled by the shade and tasted pure to his thirsting tongue. After he had sated his thirst, Jordan filled his own supply before returning it to his pack. Looking around the pool, he noticed that the trees’ branches grew from very low on the trunk and several hung just a foot or so above the water. Acting on little more than an impulse, he shed his heavy boots and socks and climbed onto the lowest branch of the nearest tree. In no time, he had made his way down the smooth, brown, wooden path out over the water. Transferring himself to another, lower, branch, Jordan rolled up his pant legs and lowered his legs until his bare feet skimmed the surface of the water. The cool and silky touch of the pool felt like the softest of slippers to his worn and blistered feet. For many long minutes, Jordan remained on the branch, dangling his limbs. When he finally decided to return to terra firma, he firmly grasped a branch above his head with both of his hands, and in the semblance of a small child’s play, dropped out of the tree, tucking his legs under him so that he would not soak his pants. He hung there for a moment, then swung himself forward and leaped onto the bank of the pond. He landed spryly, grinning like a fool. He walked back over to his things and returned the socks and boots to his feet.
As he tied the last laces on his boots, Jordan heard a distant, booming, thump. It sounded something akin to far-away thunder, but the clear sky was enough to mock that idea. Jordan looked up and watched the sky in the direction of the sound. Soon there came a high whistling noise, completely out of place in this idyllic clearing, but familiar to Jordan’s ears. Suddenly a loud blast tore through the tranquil setting, shaking the ground and scattering birds from the trees that bordered the field. Dirt flew through the air in a great spray of turf. As clods of earth fell to the ground around the sizable crater that had replaced a section of the field of flowers, Jordan sighed and stood up to grab his gear.
Private Jordan Sanders pulled his pack tight on his shoulders, replaced his helmet, and shouldered his M-1. With small arms fire beginning to crackle somewhere not far away, he cast a last wistful look back at the German meadow and stepped once again into the trees. Setting out in the direction that the artillery had come from, he prepared himself for the task ahead. He may not have found his platoon, but it sounded like perhaps they had found the Germans. He felt the temptation to stay, but only remotely. His friends probably needed him, and he wouldn’t let them down. He had had his moment of peace, but he knew he would no longer find peace here.
