Sparkling Grasses

Sparkling grasses. I'm thankful for that thing that happens as the wind cascades through the unbroken grass blades like the wind a mother carries, calming her infant child. The small hairs moving, vibrating along with the shake shake shake of the Earth-child-crust. The leaves, yellow and changing to orange, acting as parasols for the eyelids and parachutes for the umbilical vein-stems of the leaves. The stream echoes on rocks as the jet engines roar overhead. There is a melody to the whole production, a slight easiness that makes the baby calmer and the pond heavy with water.

My body just an actor in a play filled with actors. All trying hard to act 'natural', to be 'a part' of the scene. I move as the sun moves and as the moon overlooks the sky. The spotlight doesn't shine on just one, but all, everyone and everything.