Blueberries

Society and circumstance are forcing me to be logical... But I've always operated on intuition more so than logic. This short piece sums up my frustration.

There are cannonballs landing in the blueberries.
My private sanctum, the one full of beauty and wonderful ideas and oddities, is under attack.
The adjacent field has been made bare; it sounds of rasping bugles, and smells like ash on a dry wind.
It is regimented and sensible and impersonal, and it cannot abide the haphazard nature of my sanctum.
The tangled stems and the bustling bees are an affront, for they fall within no order, and obey no command but instinct.