G is for Grass


There is plenty of grass to photograph; Brett mows a good acre of it every week. Corn is springing up around us in the fields as well, and I reminisce over the old detasseling days.  Never before had I seen a wild rose up close and personal in nature until this week, however. There they were along the road, faces bright amid a sea of green. I could smell summer in their fragrance of wild beauty, windswept sweetness, redolent grace.  Needle-hair coated stems did not deter me from plucking a stalwart little plant up to fill my kitchen with its persistent scent. This prairie, blooming, reminds me how fleeting a season life is, how enduring little seeds of hope are, how potent and brilliant one flower can be.


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