The Meadow

There’s a meadow of green grass and flowers, the grass the most vibrant green ever, punctuated by pops of color - here a sprig of purple, there a splash of yellow. The landscape rolls and the sun beams down in sheets of golden haze, at times it kisses my face with heat, at times the contours of the hill bathe me with cool shadow. Here the grass is darker, deeper and cooler: more moist. I watch the breeze tickle the blades of grass until they dance with delight. Overhead the sky is pale blue, sprinkled with white puffs of cloud. A lone bird wanders the drafts, cruising in to enjoy the sunlight with me. In the distance, a fringe of trees, and beyond, far off there are mountains, whose sharp peaks meet the clouds. But here, all is soft and gentle - onward roll the hills, the grass is a soft cool carpet beneath my toes. The breeze carries the sweet scent of nectar and when I inhale, my body fills with light. I kneel, find cool earth betwixt blades of grass and let its solidity ground me. With my palms on the bare ground I breathe into its strength its depth and allow myself to absorb the sweetness in the air.