Bare Feet in the Grass
Dear Friend,
I woke at my usual time this morning and allowed myself a moment to just lie there. I could hear the cardinals outside, chirping their greeting to the morning sun, and I couldn't wait to get outside.
I slowed myself long enough to grab my robe. Yes, it's been quite hot these days—hot, with fierce afternoon storms—but each morning, as we ease closer to September, I realize it's only a matter of time before I'll need that robe in earnest.
I crept through the back room, cracked the door open, and stepped outside. It was warm already, but I threw the robe on anyway. Sometimes a girl just needs to be wrapped in silk, don't you think? The pavers on the patio were slightly damp, and I shivered in anticipation. A few more steps, and my toes felt their first whisper of damp grass. I lifted one foot slowly, letting the tips of the blades tickle my skin.
The grass was cool, and that crisp chill mingled with the wet dew to playfully soak my feet as I walked. I know you, my dear friend, haven't always loved the feel of cold, wet grass underfoot. If I recall correctly, you used to tromp through it as quickly as you could, huffing the whole way. I can still hear you calling over your shoulder, wanting me to hurry up and catch you. I'd only laugh and walk slower still. You'd throw your hands in the air, shake your head, and head inside without me. Do you remember? I hope you're smiling at the memory, same as I am.
Anyway—if you can imagine it—I walk even slower through the morning grass now than I did back then. Part of that is the fire ants; one really must mind their step in our backyard. But the heart of the matter is that I simply love connecting to the earth with my bare feet. I love the tickle of it. I'm filled with wonder when I let myself think about how many living things I'm touching with each gingerly planted step. And the coolness the dew leaves behind is, somehow, a comfort all its own.
It's a symphony of sound out here each morning. Birds I can see chirp happily, and others I can't see call back from the trees beyond the yard. Sometimes the wind catches just right, and the palm fronds rub against one another, whispering along with the lighter leaves. I think I could stand out here every morning for ages and still not tire of the marvel of it.
Starting my day with bare feet in the grass will always be one of my greatest joys, my friend. I wonder what it might do for you, one ordinary morning, to slow down enough to feel the ground beneath your own feet before the world asks anything of you.
Perhaps one day you'll visit and find out for yourself? Even if for no other reason than to swiftly walk in front of me, throw that look of exasperation over your shoulder as I trail behind you, and head back inside with a huff—doesn't that sound like fun? I miss you, my dear friend. I can't wait for you to experience this place with me one day.
Sending you salt air kisses,
Your waiting friend from Magnolia Isle
