Walking Through the Grass of the Meadows

I realize what grass is made of,
small wiry roots
clenching the clumps of rich soil.
The grass catches the rays of the fiery bursting ball of sun,
blades reaching up to the heavens.
The shadows and sun reflecting glows off the grass,
the green mixed with the blue
colliding.
A turquoise blaze appears just across
the top of the horizon,
the smooth soft bristles of the grass
rocking slowly like waves of the ocean,
and I'm realizing grass is very strong.
It has its own spirit.