I live at the foot of the hills. The sea is within earshot. Clover stretches all the way down to where I go, along the path lined with tall fescues. It's a short journey I take, a song I sing. There's green and gold, blues that dress me like wearing a season. It smells salty.
I run my fingers over the white umbels and pinch a stem, placing it between my teeth. The robust scent reminds me of a dish cooked in a casserole. There are all these fragrances that I make albums of; bouquets I tie together, crowns I hang. Here, flowers grow through us.
I love the ground I walk on. Its soil is rich, and its teeming inhabitants shape the terrain I tread. It buzzes, it consults. It builds tunnels. The air flowing against me bends the grasses, inviting me into their lounge. Soon, the sky's moods will lead me into vast daydreams punctuated by costumes, yellow butterflies, and overalls stained with small fruits. I let the wind move my hair. There it is. We have arrived.
I lie down on the bedstraw. Encircled by greenery, I feel safe. A small creature with a shiny shell swings at the end of a blade. What does it think of me? This oddity lying on its home. I reach out my hand, it places a leg on it, then explores my thumb and perches on the nail like at the end of a diving board. As I imagine it diving into the void, it flies away. Above, thin strands of clouds swallow the pink of the setting sun, casting its last remnants on my skin. Behind, the waves lick the pebbles; I am lulled by their complaint. I drift off. Murmurs of joy awaken my memory. I see my little girl's face shining in the twilight. My voice modulates and crackles as I read stories from an old book, sheltered under the canopy of stunted spruces.
It's a world brimming with loveliness here. It's a fresh field I run through whenever I please. Summer catches me in its arms braided with hay, autumn blows its foams and furies through my woolens. I always return to this haven of love; my essence grew here. And I can only inhabit this generous land; like the grasses, the flowers, and the stunted spruces. Because I, too, am still growing here.
