The field I keep dreaming about is already gone

Woke up thinking about a stretch of land I used to walk before someone put a cul-de-sac on it. The dream had it still green and wet with morning, but my feet knew the asphalt was underneath, like the memory of the field was only being lent to me for a while. That's the thing about ground — you don't own it, you just keep showing up until it stops recognizing you.