On the walk to work yesterday morning, I was mesmerized by the grass. Brilliant green, the lawns and hills had a depth to them I hadn’t noticed before, lit by the morning sun reflecting off points of dew on every blade. Everything was covered by a fine sheen of water, and the sun cast the world in light that pulled the eye along sweeping curves and deep into the green sea of the ground we walk over but so rarely notice.
I wanted to stop and smell the grass, to sit on the sidewalk and the lawns and just stare. I wanted to capture the light and the images, because I knew they would fade as the sun rose and melted away the dew. That its light would turn harsh and the beauty would fade, burned away by beams more suited for searching out the truth than for softly drawing out the beauty inherent in these stunted blades.
It is a stereotype of thieves and pack rats that they are hypnotized by shiny things. But this was a beauty I could neither steal nor harbour the desire to do so. I wish you could have sat with me and run your hand over the grass, letting your eyes follow the sweep of its rise and fall over the small hills in front of the dormitories. I wish I could have captured that light to share it with all the world, that we might stop and sit awhile together, learning what it is to be beautiful.