On one plane.

Full of yellow corn, blue flowers and green.

There is a gentle person.

With soft hands.

Leaning over to touch and stroke.

One with yearning eyes.

On another plane.

One that fast approaches and snakes on the oily storm blasted horizon.

There is a storm cloud.

Full of thunder and darkness.

A black voice and terrible eyes.

Swooping in Queen Bee.

To sting.