Stalks and stalks of corn. Miles and miles of corn. If you were tall enough and were able to peak out over a stalk or two, you wouldn’t see where the field of corn ended. It looked as if the tips of the corn stalks were reaching as high as they could to touch the sky, far in the distance. Much like the teal and blue waves of an ocean, majestically meeting the horizon as you stand at the edge of the water during low tide.

Robert was cautiously walking through his infinite miles of corn. He would go left, then right, and maybe backtrack a little. Like a corn maze during the Halloween season, minus creepy characters, and minus any paved paths.

From an airplane, descending from 35,000 feet to the nearby airport, a little boy in a window seat and a couple returning from their honeymoon, would notice the miles and acres and excessive amount of corn. Well, they may not necessarily realize it’s corn stalks, but it’s something.

Yes, it’s definitely something.

But only Robert knew the purpose of his corn. He reaped and watered for years to get to where he wanted it. To make sure it looked the way he wanted it to. To serve the purpose as he wanted it to.

This corn was not going to be harvested. Robert was not going to pave through any of it, to create a haunted path for teenagers and young adults to race through.

As Robert continued walking through the stalks, the same patterns as before, he knew.

He knew he had done this right. He buried his secrets.

Other than secrets, only Robert knew what else was buried under all of this corn.