Grass, what are you telling me?

It was high noon, the sun was its peak, and the heat was scorching in an open arena in the middle of nowhere in Denver, Colorado.  There is a light breeze, not a single bird flying yet I could hear the chirping in the sound of silence.

Where is everybody?

Moving towards the hill, I could see a mirage of two people.  When I came closer to the top, there is a lake and the figure I saw where two men fishing silently.  I walked towards them, nodded my head to acknowledge their presence and walked away quietly to keep the sacredness and not to scare the fishes away.

Returning to the threshold that I walked through, I sat on the ground, leaned against the fence to shelter me from the heat.  The tall grass covers me and we settled down in the quiet of our being.

Gently I touch the blades of grass, caressing it and in return, the grass tickles me.  We are both pleased with each other’s company.  Giving and receiving the sheer pleasure of doing nothing.

What a wonderful afternoon, feeling what is that I cannot name and then suddenly, I started crying, uncontrollably.  It was so strange to feel the joy and grief at the same time.

Grass, what are you telling me?

When the emotional state I was in subsided, I said goodbye to the grass and thank it for having me.  Then I returned to my friend’s place that I was visiting.  Tomorrow, I am going home to Canada.

The following day before departing I quickly run to the fence, cross the threshold to say hello and goodbye to the grass. Shocked, I was so devastated what I saw.  The grass was cut down.  Gone.

Grass, is this what you were telling me yesterday?

Painting: Van Gogh