Sometimes under the sleepy sun
on a summer day
in a greengold field
I watch the wind and the breeze
play catch me if you can
in the grass

Waves of light and shadows
rippling currents
swishing sounds
reminiscent of rivers and brooks
as the field becomes fluid
like waves

Sometimes flattened
a susurrus of swishling
sometimes weaving
in sound and light
a symphony
only butterflies
can understand

Louder then softer
closer then farther
like a giant hand
playfully flattening the field
a piece at a time
then leaving it
to become itself again

Grass poetry.