I am alone at home this evening. After dinner (eaten at the picnic table while reading a book), I went for a stroll around the property. Part of my path wound through the tall grass between the hedge and the vegetable garden.
Setting aside my normal reaction (This is so overgrown! I’ve got to get out here and cut this down), I did what my ten year-old self would have done, and lay down in the grass, holding still until I began to notice things.
I noticed that the ground was delightfully warm against my back.
I noticed that some of the grass was still in flower—anthers nodding in the wind—and other grass had already gone to seed and been stripped by the birds.
I noticed that the smaller flies meandered around among the grass stalks while the larger flies zipped overhead.
I saw a velvet mite gliding up and down a stalk of grass.
I noticed that a house sparrow nearby was chirping at just the right frequency to be irritating to my ears.
I noticed that the clouds weren’t moving across the sky as I thought, but rather were simply growing and coalescing in place.
…
Next thing I knew, I was starting awake, with the clouds, the grass, the birds, and the insects all still doing their thing around me.
Robinne Weiss 