You led me to believe the grass is always green, that it could forever take our rough and tumble; that it was for us entirely. Lately I came to know that on hot, hot days it should be crispy and brown, that play should make it bald and patchy, that after rain it will rejuvenate miraculously, life springing up again and again. I never knew it as a place for spying scurrying insects, tiny, in their own world, nor the struggle of seeds in the earth daily watered and watched, in anticipation as they sprouted upward pushing, glorying in the warm sun becoming all they could be, flower then fruit - joy, oh joy. I never heard the bees hovering, buzzing over flowers. I never saw butterflies 'lighting on them - no chance for flights of fancy, imagination running wild, day-dreaming, basking in beauty. You wanted it tidy, functional. Indeed, you thought the ground a carrier of Adam's curse. You desired no toil, no sweat, no labour to keep it all in check. You severed my deepest connection, my roots, my grounding, my belonging.