Beneath a boundless blue sky, there is a small pond in the center of a large grassy field. The yellowed grass is the color and height of mature wheat on an open plane. The tops of the blades sway and ripple in the wind, moving in a thousand directions at once; their constant rustling creates a murmur that adds to the stillness of the land. There is a small tree by the pond, its trunk is thin and its branches are easily bendable in the wind, and although its still young, its canopy is broad enough to provide shade from the relentless sunlight. The pond is shallow and dark blue. At the bottom, the soft earth has turned to a silky soft mud that leaves trails of its black sediment across the feet that step on it. Small bits of algae dot the surface of the water and nearly translucent guppies skip along just below the surface. Small ripples from the wind scatter the waters towards the shoreline, a boundary which is lined with long thin reeds and tiny sprouts of green grass.
There are two sisters wading in the pond. One is tall and lean, her long blond hair blows like the tall grasses around her, her firm breasts are covered by a thin red tube top. Her sister is nearly identical, but just slightly smaller; shorter legs, smaller breasts, tinier waist. The girls are in the center of the pond, their long white legs bare except for their jeans shorts. The water line tickles the skin on their calves. They move their feet up and down like marching soldiers, squeezing the mud between their toes. They are silent, their attention engrossed in the dark water below. They stare at the water and at their buried feet.
There is a man in the distance, he is by the side of a two lane highway a short distance away from the grassy field. He sits upon the hood of his small, beat-up red car. He looks towards the girls in the field through squinted eyes. In his hand is a snapshot of the blond young woman. The highway is deserted, the sun sends heat waves cascading above the asphalt. The man is wearing long blue jeans and an old stained T-shirt. In the sun, the lines of his thirty year old face are just beginning to show. His eyes squint in the bright sunlight. He stares at the girls who are oblivious to his presence. The wind rattles through the air, like a muted siren among the grass.