I live in an apartment, so I don’t think much of grass. It’s just the green background to my busy life but as soon as I visit the countryside strange thoughts consume my mind.
Grasses have a very simple way of life. They just stand there drawing energy from the Sun enjoying a symbiotic relationship with the natural soil environment which teems with bacteria, fungus and earthworms.
I part the grass to see what’s beneath and lay my fingers upon a dusty heart. Thrusting up through the soil are countless blades that break into waves of greenness that spill across the paddocks. I can clearly hear the whisper of grow, grow, grow.
As autumn draws to an end the bureau says a couple of snow-bearing cold fronts are on the cards. As a natural response to protect its crowns from which grass blades grow the grass will become dormant. This death like state turns the grass a sleep-tinted gold which will last until it becomes green again in spring.
The air is sunny and the chill wind of spring-time blows from behind. The traveller arrives at the long rural driveway and he knows he’s at home.
The dark arms of the trees form a circling overhead and the tree-tops meet and greet each other. Flowers and grass spring beneath their feet.Well-worn tracks lead out to the pasture slope and up to the white country home. The horses stand in wait at the pasture fence.
City life dilutes my blood and dulls my thinking but I get relief when I stop to hear the voice of the wind, the livestock and the birds. In the peace my memory stretches back to earlier years.
While walking in the country side I came to a pond. It is nowhere near big enough to sail a yacht upon and is probably only five feet wide and twenty feet long.
The trees gloomy and green cast a still shadow and a dragonfly skitters across the water. The frogs call all day long hoping their croak will attract a partner. The black swamp wallaby drinks and grazes where clusters of the small yellow flowers grow.
It might be humble pond but it has a unique charm and when the light penetrates all the way to the bottom you can see the teeming variety of animals and plants. Rarely do they move to another pond as they never have the inclination to escape their world.
The southern tablelands were hit by a storm last night. The rain has rained all around. The trees are laden, the ground is soaked and the creek runs free.
Today the sun’s out and the clouds come rolling in. They stretch in a never-ending line towards the north.
I stand in front of the softly burning fire and I talk to myself. I’ll soon be leaving the field behind for another day. It’s like leaving a longtime friend.
I just noticed a flash of colour, bright yellow. Daffodil yellow.
These little flowers of friendship have sprung up under the protection of the silver birch trees in the area where the stream bubbles by the house.
They are so beautiful among the greenest grass that has been seen for years thriving in the constant rain and sunshine weather cycle that is prevalent at this time of the year.
The gusty winds give them energy and they dance with joy against the backdrop of the blue sky.
He was there one minute and then he was gone. I knew it would come to this sooner or later. Larry has run away from home.
He was sitting on the bench and the moment I turned my back, like a lizard he slithered over the balcony and ran off down the street.
There he is down there.
I followed him to the bus stop and the poor bugger thought he was catching a bus to Miranda Fair Shopping Centre but unfortunately this route will take him to the Flemington Markets and that’s not going to be much chop for a poor old lettuce.
We sat together for a while but didn’t say much . He was so unhappy. I promised to take him seriously and I let him know I was worried.
I asked what was upsetting him. Apparently he feels he’s being bullied by some of the other foods in the kitchen. The other day the Bacon asked the Tomato
“What is a Honeymoon Salad?”
“I don’t know” replied the Tomato
“Lettuce alone, with no dressing!” said the Bacon and they both started laughing and Larry found this really hurtful.
I walked him back to the unit and with the tomato and the Bacon present we all had a discussion. They didn’t realize that they were being cruel. Eventually there were smiles all around and Larry even had a few jokes of his own.
“Why did the tomato go out with a prune?” He asked
“Because he couldn’t find a date!” was his answer.
We all politely laughed. But his best was this one.
A man goes to the Doctor with a piece of lettuce hanging out of his ear. “That looks nasty,” says the doctor. “Nasty?” replies the man, “this is just the tip of the iceberg!”
I think that following our little happiness session things are better in the kitchen. We have found our flow and Larry is content to sit in the sun out on the balcony.