Is not something most people think about often. Flat, rubbery blades that squeak when rubbed, poking out from the soil and standing amongst one another in rough blankets. On lawns, some of it appears in uneven clumps, some as consistent perfection, and sometimes it is absent entirely. Grass, unlike gravel basking in the sun’s warmth, has a great desire for the feeling of water down its back, wetness soaked into its thin, pale roots. I wonder what grass would think about if it were able to think. Maybe it would think about the burn of the sun’s nourishing rays, or the clouds signaling an upcoming rain. Perhaps the blades would argue whether the gray clouds warned of rain, or if it would simply be a cloudy day. Maybe grass really is sentient and us humans are unaware of it, simply gamboling in our own naivety.
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