While walking my inner yard this early sunny
morning, what with all these weeks of rain,
the grass is lushly green, over a foot high,
still wet but smelling absolutely marvelous.
I am on a hunt, a small harvest of sorts, for
the most succulent of viridescent, tender
blades of grass.
Oh, not for me you see, but for my big lazy
rotund, inside only cat, as his diet is bland
canned, or dry foods only, he turns up his
feline nose at chicken, or bits of beef from my
table, and so once or twice a week I do faithfully
venture out to collect a big handful of chlorophyll
rich lawn grass that he dearly loves, and with
big eyes of intense expectation he watches my
every move from his perch upon the windowsill
of my living room.
When I return inside with his prize, in hand he
excitedly reaches up his front paws and dances
about, vocally meowing his anticipated intended
fresh salad, which he always devours right down
to the very last grass green blade. Oh, for such
simple cat pleasures.
How I wish I could get even half that excited about
anything, anymore. But those days are long past.
Well on second thought, maybe just waking up
every morning is good enough.
We will need to hookup the field mower
attachment to our tractor to cut our several
acres of grass lawns, it is too high and wet
for our John Deere riding mower to do the job.
But that is the task for my Grandsons to tackle.
One that I can watch and enjoy from my living
room window.