Grass.

Walking on the grass, a smile slowly and safely forms on my face, easing an inexplicable tension somewhere in my mind. It’s green, but not completely, like a mosaic, scattered with pale weeds and unrecognisable blossoms that change with the seasons.

Each step is unique and thrilling, inspiring different sensations. There are unexpected dentures that gently make my heart sink with an endearing surprise. There is moisture that seeps through my shoes, from the dew of early mornings or water sprinklers from yesternights. Some spots are toughened with pebbles and sharp rocks, but I step on them gracefully, acknowledging the idea of obstacles they are trying to vocalise.

The grass is a canvas, like the sky is to the birds. On it dwells life and the accompanied secrets and mysteries that we humans can not comprehend; ants and beetles tread with a sharp aim, bees fly from blossom to blossom seeking nourishment, birds walk searching, communicating, eventually taking off and— away they fly.

So much occurs before me, just as I take those countable steps, feeling grounded as my feet sink into the earth. Sometimes I am tempted to just sit down and caress the grass, feeling the soil entwine with my fingers, giving it this profusely earthly fragrance that makes me want to believe in the extraordinary.

And with all those unrecognisable and evident occurrences, the grass simply changes the world. And I love it for that.