Cannot reach the top, because there is no heap. The field is flat. Empty.

Grasses sway and the breeze is warm with possibility and potential and nervous energy of putting yourself out there. With embarrassment looming, anticipated and welcome.

A wry grin of self sacrifice on the altar of scrutiny.

A light in the distance. Too far to see if it's coming or going. Maybe a little sideways, on its own mission looking for the heap.

I step silently forward, knowing there may be regrets.