My Monkey grass dreams

I have this two by four foot pane of clear glass on my back door, and as I sit here at my desk as I so often do now-days, I can see only a portion of my side yard. I see my pussy willow tree and a concrete (antique) urn and there is a three-foot tall stone shaped like a cross between an immense Scotty dog or a hatchet head, depending on your point of view. Don brought the stone from Eastern KY, years ago for my garden, it took several men to load it, and I love the moss growing on it and the cracks and weathered beauty of it. I see other things outside the door window, an early Spring brambly looking garden not yet green, a rusting iron gate, a much ignored basket ball goal minus the net. I can see the post on my side porch and my monkey grass growing on the edge of the driveway.


This is where I get the urge to write down my thoughts, and here is the spot I am sitting when my imagination takes off and flies through the glass and across all that I can view and can even go up into the oddly shaped corner of the sky that is visible. So much inspiration caught up in so little scenery. My pussy willow captures birds of every color and size just as it ensnares me as I watch the shadows play on the sun lit side of the limbs. The slice of garden draws butterflies by the dozens when the days warm up and the cold breath of winter has slipped away, life is bustling there, I am mesmerized and so I gaze.

Just a tiny hook in my thoughts can take me anywhere, in the flutter of a sparrows brown wing; I am whisked, away to that other place, that other time. My eyes are wide but they are beholding vistas other than the here and now. I would enjoy following my thoughts there to that place of dreams, but caution keeps me here, most dreams even the best are not for daily living.

My eyes rest on my Monkey grass and the secret they hold. Under the flat blades is hidden life, and one must learn the lesson of a former year; a hand without a glove should not be thrust into the heart of the dark green stalks, for sometimes, something slithers there. That is not the stuff of my dreams on a good day.
The bunches (?) of grass have a tropical appearance and that is pleasing to my drifting thoughts, taking me to languid days and laid-back ways and breezes that kiss.

As long as one knows the difference between idling time away and the excitement of traveling far or near on the currents of emotion to places born only in you, then the traveling should be great, and after all the ticket is free!

I must get busy now I need to clean my door window, I see a strange smudge or could that be…....



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