I'm sitting in the grass by my apartment as the sun sets. Looking deeply into the grass, I see this one tall blade:
It's just a blade of grass--nothing special. Then I recall Walt Whitman's answer to the child's question, "What is the grass?" He writes,
". . . I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord, A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropped, Bearing the owner's name someway in the corners, that we may see and remark, and say Whose?"
I begin to wonder again. I bury myself in the grass and spy
the tiniest cricket. I zoom in and take a picture
before he hops away. The grass and the insect
do, like Whitman claims, lead me to contemplate the Creator.
Living with flair means looking at the blades of grass.
Journal: When was the last time you sat in the grass and looked around?