Where the Grass Is Thick

by Joe Hannon

I sense the relentless buzz of the crickets perched above my ears. The wind crosses slowly. I fill my lungs to smell the cool air and feel it on my fingertips. That hint of vanilla in the air rushes from you to me, almost as though it knew the path to my nose.

We lay with our backs on beds of earth as the daylight warms our skin. It is a great sun, bigger than usual, like it's shining for only us. The thick grass holds me tight like a bed of nails, yet soft like the clouds I can't reach. I stand to stretch as each appendage seems to have fallen asleep. I sneak a glance at you to see if you are awake, but the sunset is reflecting off the silk of your eye leaving a twinkle that won't allow me to know if you are asleep or staring back at me. I walk to the edge where the world drops off. There is so much below us, and the view is amazing. It is the deepest grave of green. The patterns of grass, sand, and water all join together to create a simple, chaotic maze. The trees seem to run on for months. As I stand, I see the grass green beneath me. It reaches upward, grips the sun, and pulls it down to where they meet. I imagine they exchange a few words as the fading star sinks to disappear behind the rows and rows of trees stacked like soldiers in line. The color mix creates a sharp green base below a dazzling fuchsia sunset that falls from a sky even bluer than the sea, with the clouds posing as waves you'd like to dip your fingers into. As I take in the view and shade the laser red rays from my eyes, the scene comes to life. -

The alligators below are prowling; I wonder how their eyes see the frame I peer into. Their bodies resemble their habitat. Their pearly teeth drip with the blue water that portrays the sky and its jagged clouds. A big red tongue is a mirror image of the dissolving sun. And their backs of green spikes run forever through the tail until it comes to a point like the army of spruce trees growing smaller and smaller into the distance. - The birds above speak of wasted slumber and restless hours staring into the alligator's mouth. I long to borrow their wings and cruise lightly toward the bleeding star. The aching sunburn would be well worth the few hours of peaceful gliding.

As I climb back down from the adventure, I find myself still focused on your hazel eyes. The small, twinkling reflection fades to a glimmer and you are asleep. Hopefully swimming with the alligators and flying with the same birds.

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