Grass dance

A cool breeze goes through my clothing licking all over my skin. The sound of people not doing as I am. People’s feet scratching and shuffling on the pavement. The soft rustling of fabric. The smell of rain, mud, grass, and occasional whiff of shampoo or perfume. The wind causing tears to form in the corners of my eyes, and pushing the allergens up my nose.

The rolling burning pain in my stomach. The pressure in my back, and vomit rising in my throat. My kidney’s crying in pain from the stones that have formed and are now trying to exit my body.

The chirp and tweet of birds, and the sway of the branches all carried in the wind. The myriad of colors, the myriad of shades of those colors. A million blades of grass, each different, yet each the same.The amount of life in one small step. The whole world under my one foot. I was connected to everything past, present, future, alive now and given to create the now. The grass is moving and vibrating with the intrusion of our bodies on theirs. Some of it dancing on my exposed heals.

My pain intense but starting to ebb.  The pills breaking down, entering my blood stream, contaminating my brain. Holding back my senses, as if I’m now reaching out from a dream.

Eyes watching me watching them, horses, birds, much more I couldn’t see but could feel. Other student’s eyes, concerned and caring, knowing, watching me to make sure I’m okay, warming my heart and stinging my pride a little.

The ground soft under me, squashing and squishing  with every movement. Water seeping in through the back and toes of my shoes making a soft squeek. A drop of rain on my ear, the spray of mist blown across my face, some times landing soft as a kiss, other times attacking like angry warriors.

Trail my fingers down the decrepit fence, a velvet of moss, and crinkle of lichen polka-dotted on its skin.

The slam of a car door, the music traveling during that few seconds without barrier.

Drip, tink, plop, water moving, hitting surfaces unseen. The flow of water over rocks down hill. Hardly big enough to make a sound, but I think I hear it, ever so soft.

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One Response to Grass dance

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