Out to grass

Softly prickly through my shirt and under my hands,

Grasses green and brown bear my weight;

Moving gently as I move,

Forgiving, growing, tough.

Long stems with seed heads catch my eye this way;

A thistle and the heads of yarrow that.

Above, three phone wires string across the sky:

Straight parallels against the blue.

And in between the crescent moon

Hangs unassuming, far away.

The heavy air is full of sound:

Crickets buzzing there, and there;

The background whoosh of wind in leaves;

The brief hum of a passing car.

The heat of the sun blankets me.

The swoop of a swallow catches my eye.

The nose and hoof of a horse come into view.

And I drift on this bed of grass, in God’s green pasture.