Today I will write about the wind in the tall grasses.
Lost, immaterial, like our souls,
Just a passage from one place to another.
Just air. Just breath.
Soft stalks undulating. It’s ballet. Beautiful submission.
Soothing choreography under a ruthless sun.
People pass by on their bicycles
Barely noticing the road leads nowhere.
Barely noticing they’re cycling in circles,
Like the seasons,
Inevitably ending up the same, just older. Drier.
Have you noticed how heavy our souls have become
And how they weigh on the landscape
Chased by this cruel big sky?
How hard the wind has to blow to still move them?
Two blades of grass standing tall,
Then bent by the gale. The caress of a green tassel.
Two blades touching each other for a second
Softly, until they don’t. Until they cut skin.