there’s bound to be frequent blades of grass that one can fit one’s toes between. and in between the toes, the grass. grass which has a smell, always, the smell of one or another type, but a smell nonetheless grass-like. grass which always appears grass-like whether it is dry or moist, tall or short, bush or stalk. there’s now and forever the opportunity to find a patch of grass, smaller or larger, to take one’s shoes off, take one’s socks off, and stretch your toes out into the grass. it seems it always appears whenever it is just needed. a patch of grass can present itself with the intention of being needed. even just a passerby is susceptible to its effervescent charm. looking upon its glistening green glow, or its desolate yellowness, or the wild and tall stalks, or even the trash clung to clumps, this passerby is ensnared, and soon, must remove their shoes, their socks, and spread their toes in the grass. if the grass is between two redbrick buildings, one may be eternally revolving in the grassy circles.
up ahead one may encounter many varieties of grass. a grass which appears flattened underneath the weight of an animal. the grass which is divoted and pocked from digging. the grass held in the palm of one’s hand, the soil itself. the grass which spins in the wind. the grass against the trunk of a tree, embattled, calm. the grass interlocked with the other grass. the grass jettisoned by a shovel. the grass roots, the cloud of brown or red or black with white fingers hanging. the grass of the river, the grass of the pond, the grass in the ditch, beside the moat, beneath the dam. the grass turned, spurned, worked, tossed, worshipped, pummeled, eaten. the grassy grass, the green grass, the golden grass, the weight of it, discovering. the grass plucked at, the grass invisible by night, the grass brushing ankles, the grass pushed by the sea. one may not decipher which grass the grass is, in that particular instant, or thereafter. the grass is a grass of all the grasses, and yet it is this one grass. one may take the grass between the fingers, in large handfuls, with dirt clumped to the bottom by the roots, like a mallet, and see the grass belly, the dirt, which spreads the infinite grass like a single organ.
grass has its way of reaching up into your feet and this is why one would do best to immediately remove their shoes and socks, and immediately spread their toes in the grass. if for a moment, one would feel the warm sensation of wind between their legs, of the softness of a cheek, or the lightness of bird’s wings. and this is the beginning of the grass’ inundation. soon one would find its green glow impenetrable. the wise grass, the solemn grass, the immovable grass. one would utter its many multiple occurences. the grass of destiny, one might say, intoxicantly. the grass would continue to grow, of course. grass always grassily grows