I was out cutting grass this morning, noticing how quickly it had shot up this week. After an unusually hot and dry May and June, we finally got a little reprieve with some afternoon rains this past week. I said to myself, “This looks like happy grass!” Right away I thought that would be a good title for a jazz instrumental. “If I were a musician,” I continued with my inner dialogue, “I would sit down and write a jazz number and call it Happy Grass. By the time I was finished mowing the lawn, I decided that even though I’m not a writer of music, I am a writer of words. Why not write a poem about it? So here it is – this is the first draft, so you know it will change.
It was a tentative but tenacious hold
That she had on that dry, dusty piece of earth.
Her blades low upon the ground
Growth had slowed – all but stopped –
Conserving her life and energy.
Does she speak to her sisters
During the dry time?
Or is the mere presence of the other
All the assurance one needs?
After a season of drought,
Weeks of endurance,
A few days of afternoon thunderstorms
Refreshed the land.
She stood up and danced.
Blades, stalks and seeds shot upward.
So quickly a grace of green joined hands
And swayed in the wind.
She and her sisters
Were ever ready to rejoice
While always willing to endure.
After I cut the grass, I went out later to use the weed eater to trim the places where the mower can’t reach. The weed-eater wasn’t working properly because the little blade wasn’t trimming the line the way it should as the line was released. I said to myself, “Ah, my blade’s too dull.” Right away I thought that would be a great title for a jazz instrumental…