Summer Grass

After a walk around our apartment complex today, we stopped to lounge in the grass. Miss only lounged for a few seconds, and then was off to kick and chase her ball up and down the grassy hills. Watching her, and sitting there in the grass, reminded me of summers as a child. The itchy feeling on my legs after spending too much time sitting, rolling, and playing on the grass. The warmth of the summer sun on the face, and the burn of the hot sidewalk on bare feet. Coming home, sweaty and dirty from playing kickball with the neighborhood kids, to have dinner and go to bed while it was still light outside.

As I see Miss Peanut changing from baby to toddler to little girl, there are more and more memories of childhood to which I am awakened. On a day like today, it is exciting to think of all that lies ahead for her.


The Grass
By Emily Dickinson

The grass so little has to do,-
A sphere of simple green,
With only butterflies to brood,
And bees to entertain,

And stir all day to pretty tunes
The breezes fetch along,
And hold the sunshine in its lap
And bow to everything;

And thread the dews all night, like pearls,
And make itself so fine,-
A duchess were too common
For such a noticing.

And even when it dies, to pass
In odours so divine,
As lowly spices gone to sleep,
Or amulets of pine.

And then to dwell in sovereign barns,
And dream the days away,-
The grass so little has to do,
I wish I were the hay!