#30DaysWild Day 21 Lament for Childhood: artificial grass

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.


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