yellow perfection

i found myself
staring into a field of rapeseed,
feeling a euphoria
among the solid color
and breathing heavily enough
to notice the air's purity;
the wind blew ripely
in its age and moved
like a fairy in dance
across the tops of
each yellow perfection -
a tree stood lonely in the mix,
as beautiful as an angel
might appear in the firmament
if it were the sole proprietor
just standing, colored
by its surroundings
and soaking in glory.
at the tip of battle with my ego
from what stood behind me
i am neither tree nor angel.