A SORT OF SLEEPY PASTORAL SCENE

The sun shone high and bright over the field, the long grasses whispering peacefully in the breeze.  It'd been a long, long time since the grass in the outfield had seen a mower.  It would be a long time before it would ever see one again.  The dead walked aimlessly through the park, endlessly wandering in ragged clothes and even more ragged flesh.  The chalk lines of the field had long ago been wiped away by thousands of mindless, shuffling feet. Seed from the long grasses had spread, and even now slender green shoots crept up from the dirt in the infield.  The birds made their nests up high in the rafters, safe from the hungry jaws and claws of the dead who roamed throughout the summer heat.  They were silent, with no obvious prey for them to snarl and groan at or to chase with their mindless, slavering hunger.  It made for a sort of sleepy pastoral scene.  A nearly silent meadow, placed here in the center of an empty and haunted city.