A Series of Strange Writings

I lay in the field, the sky is golden, the ground is purple. The air smells of nothing but sweetness as the wind blows. It's warm, despite the fact that the sun is only up enough to paint the sky above. I breathe. Should I be breathing? I do not know. My limbs, they do not move, and yet I do not feel fear. The flowers around me, so purple and lovely, sway in the wind. My hair does not sway with it. There are bees floating around, sitting on the flowers and then heading home. A few land on me, they feel so gentle. What they create is the same as what the sky looks like. How whimsical. What more could someone want, then to disappear in a field of lavender, with a sky of honey above. Only the bees will hear me now, though all I do is breathe. It's nice here. Warm.