sensory grass

sensory grass tickles your toes soft pokes every word is a stroke of a blade not a brush a lawnmower in the distance breaks the silence what the hell… the smell of fresh-cut grass and the moisture that lingers on its smell you know…retains it (like the soft and cushy handprint that stays in the grass in the shady part of that corner in the yard turns the white shoes green amongst the hedges and the borders by rocks by that long-ago planted snowball tree and all the love you had to give while you planted it …rubbed the lamb's ear, said a prayer and wished it the best of luck) but here, now take a nap in the sunshine under a clouded sky peacefully on a blanket the winds brushing by the rays beam through and warm that blanket your worn-out blanket with scents of lingering past summers of far-off beaches and sunscreen dusty and musty yet beloved blanket (different kinds of loved-upon) but here, now the breeze on my toes and the breeze on the grass and the breeze on my face and my hair stealing my woes keeping me cool my eyelashes flicker a lazy dream of greens upon blues upon dandelion yellows shining until you awake slightly alarmed to a busy bee buzzing by blinded by beauty my tears trickle down the corners of my eyes bleed down my cheeks to my lips and taste salty warm and salty on my tongue warm from the gold of that hot-blooded sun and the sensory experience grateful to be alive to soak it all in through the skin can you feel it? it was a lovely dream the smell of sweet grass how bits and pieces float on air tickle the nose sweet and bitter tasty on the tongue whisking away depression blight peace rises higher and higher like barometric pressure elevating mood and lighter weight reflecting on purpose reflecting on mood through transcendence but here, now you can just be tingling sensations just be feeling overcome with peaceful power power to just lie still and enjoy the senses and dreams that the grass brings forth you’ll wake up remember details and reflect upon paper close your eyes and reflect upon paper an outward pour can’t you feel it all beaming in the sunlight? in the mood in the barometric pressure in those blades of grass breathtaking striking blades of green grass my god, aren’t we blessed —American writer