The grass looked inviting to me today as I passed by. The air was warm, the sun bright and knowing. The grass looked soft and affectionate. Speaking to the child in me, the child I was, or the child I am. I felt myself desiring it, wanting to give in and just lie down, like I would have as a child. Without responsibility, free from expectations and pressing appointments.
I suppose it’s going to be that kind of day. Where I wish I was 7 years old again. Lying beneath an old maple tree or in a patch of sunny green carpet, without a care or worry, closing my eyes unafraid of the day, what it might bring, equally fearless of monsters and mortgage bills, pain and laundry. I wish I were free from all the thoughts and worries I have gathered in my pockets over the years of experience I begged to possess.
Sometimes I just want to go home, and climb into daddy’s lap and draw my legs up, falling asleep against his warm chest, but I will have to save that dream for tomorrow and that memory for my daughter. But this grass, so green and bright and sunny, well taken care of, it looked to me or I to it. I wanted to speak to it, ask politely, “may I rest a moment in your tenderness, in the years of youth and the land of forgetfulness. Will you hide me from the eyes of judgment and pending whispers of condemnation? Will you wrap me like a babe in the innocence of yesterday, a time before today began to fear tomorrow?”
The grass looked so inviting to me today, as I traveled the well accepted sidewalk made of hard stone and routine.