my daughter cut the grass this morning, and as usual, the scent went straight to my limbic system, sending me back  to half frenetic, half lazy childhood summers spent rolling, sitting, lying, sliding, running, and falling on grass, before dads came home and filled the neighborhood with the smell of gasoline and mown hay with their droning mowers before sitting down for the evening cocktail. suddenly it occurred to me that in all of my back yard stalking and sleuthing, i had never taken a picture of the grass i walk over most days to get to “the good stuff.”  as george orwell said, “to see what is in front of one’s nose needs a constant struggle.”

grass clippings

saint paul, minnesota

 

“The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes but in having new eyes.”