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The Grass That Guides You
The grass grew away forming a patch of dirt. Tall, green, and welcoming grass that tipped its hat as you approached. polite. It beckoned you closer, excited for you to see beyond. Like a child grabbing your hand, pulling you further.
And as you enter that portal, the split of green, you saw a world untouched by humans. Like a hawk, you watched from afar at the tops of the trees. The world below was small and too much of it was dead but you saw her life. alive, breathing, surviving.
That day, when I first met the crater, she gave me a gift. An appreciation I had never felt before. She followed me home in the form of a blanket. She reminded me I was never alone. She provided me with ear when I needed to talk and she accepted my apologies when it had been long since my last visit. She is loyal, she is everlasting. I hope she knows that.
And although I have never braved to explore her roots below, I saw everything she loved. The lichen that kept her warm and the birds that fed her.
A deer saw her too, received the same gift that I had. The deer, much more majestic and worthy than I, saw something else. That deer saw her home, her life, at the bottom of the crater. That deer lent me her eyes.
My home, so sacred, so soft, so safe. Natural, neglected, never loved. Not by people, the ones without apathy, appreciation, or appraisal. The crater, my home, was a reflection of our Earth, she was growing weak and she was hurt but she was never touched, not by those of flesh. no, not directly.
Thank you, deer. She showed me the truth. I understand why the grass was so eager to invite me closer, why the crater had been so kind to me. I understand now why the world below my very feet was so important yet so forgotten.
She deserves better, I hope she knows that.
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A piece submitted to the Rachel Carson Landmark Association Sense of Wonder competition. Written by AnnJeanette Holmes photo by Ondraea Bartlett