The blades of new grass slip through my fingers as I watch you from under the arbor. Never learned how to make the grass sing, only the cool kids could do that. From the corner of my eye, I spotted a yellow butterfly floating above a purple flower standing alone in a sea of taller brown grass.
You told me green is the earth.
You told me the color was sacred.
You told me it has its own gate.
I saw it there on the dance grounds and wondered
who enters through that gate?
I looked more closely at the blades of grass. They are fine, lined, living, and vibrant. Suddenly, the drumming sounded like my own heartbeat and, running my fingertips lightly over that new grass, I felt the life pulse of the earth run through me.
It will be a good year.
Note: Photo taken at sundance grounds before grass was cut.
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