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 |  Look around. Let Nature nurture your Soul. I record images I sense and share them here. |
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Write a nature scene from the point of view of a child. Now try writing it again from the point of view of nature. What inspired you more? "Look! A dandelion." Sandy ran barefoot across yesterday's mown lawn. One golden orb had apparently escaped. "But, there's only one." She pouted. "I wanted to make a chain." Buddy ran by chasing a stick and, distracted, Sandy followed. The grass feels cool under my feet, not at all like that dead white carpet in the house or that hard concrete porch. Sandy ran past soaring red flowers towards the shade under a tree. "Look! A little blue flower." She caressed it's petals. "And here's a pink one. What's it called," she called out. Her mother merely nodded, thinking obviously the weed-and-feed isn't working, need to respray. Sandy ran towards the fence. The neighbors rose bush had dared to cross the border. She plucked the intrusion, "ouch," and ran to her mother with her prize. "See what I found!", Sandy squeaked. Her mother said "thank-you" with half-a-smile... pruning shears, need to find my pruning shears.   Look! Here comes Sandy and Buddy! Rose and her smallish friends sounded gleeful. Grass nodded it's usual dull response, nice to be appreciated; her bare feet feel good against my blades. Your just pretending to be Eeyore, Dandelion exclaimed, come here, come here, Piglet. Rose guffawed! See, she likes me. Me! Rose sighed. If it weren't for her mother... Yeah, Sandy's grandmother never let her mother play with us when she was a kid. She stayed on that porch like a princess on a throne. Sad, when you think about it. Hollyhock overlooking the fence chimed in, she never looked our way. Cold as winter, that one, at least there's hope for Sandy. And Buddy likes us! Oak seldom spoke! Sandy. Sandy. The chorus from the neglected 'garden' beneath her soles cheered her as she plucked Rose. Oops, sorry, Rose exclaimed. There's hope for us all! Well, not for Chick-weed, but there's hope. Gotta teach them one by one, every generation that comes. We have to have hope that they'll learn," Grass rippled on with the breeze. Now you're almost sounding like Pooh, Scarlet Pimpernel gently whispered. Which do I prefer? I think Grass needs to let his hair grow in! Sandy and Buddy will be fine, as long as Miss-Priss-on-the-Porch lets them be. I often give inanimate objects a voice. I believe that 'lesser' living beings deserve a voice as well ... because ... I don't think of them as being less than me. 996 |
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