It’s hard to find a meaningful thought, when you don’t really know what you want to say.
Look at the way the wind beats the grass into soft waves running up the bank of the dam. You can see it start from the furtherest blade, it eddies and swirls till it runs out with a sigh at your feet. The rustling of the wild oats is the chiming of thousands of tiny paper bells.
Remember when we ran fast through these paddocks, your soft blonde hair laughing in the wind. We filled our shoelaces with itchy golden grass seeds and never felt them prick until we ran inside. These paddocks were filled with wild bulls and spaceships, I had the knack of making all our play seem real.the cool dark green shadows were forests filled with ancient steadfast trees and all our favourite stories. Back then we knew with absolute certainty that the sunshine would last forever.
And it has! Look at it. I’m sitting in the hard trodden path between the sea of grass, and the sandy beaches are filled with sunshine, it pools in every divot of the glossy green poplar leaves, it skims the top of the wild oat waves.
Heading back, my feet take me unerringly to the faded path cutting down the bank of the dam. It was made long ago by calves, exuberant with life, running up and down the bank, again and yet again, as their mothers, large with sweet grass stood steadfast and chewed.
After I slam the screen door behind me, I strip off the shoes and socks made prickly by golden grass seeds, which I have picked up just by a quiet walk through sunny waves.