Walking Through the Grasses

Walking through the grasses, I measure my height, These tall blades always seem just beyond my reach. I stretch my hand to touch the tips, But their sharpness makes it difficult to hold on. Peering through them, I spot a few insects, Crawling, searching for their own paths, While others dart away, choosing a different route. A sea of green surrounds me, an open shelter, Gazing at the sky through the swaying tips, It feels so high, even a jump requires a pump. I try so hard to touch, but my hands fall short, Eventually, I tumble into the grass, My palms tingling from the gentle itch. Waving my hands through those soft yet sharp blades, I find pleasure in the moment’s simplicity. My feet sink into the mud, Dirty, yet it feels like freedom. Isn’t it amazing, this place so ordinary, Yet it offers the most extraordinary feeling? My feet don’t feel the pain; they just want to jump, To leap again and again, To lie on the soft grass, Touching the sky above, Lost in the bliss of being alive.