I never minded that the grass made my legs itch, or that its dewdrops soaked through my summer dresses. Long and rarely cut by the blades of any man-powered machine, these blades of sweet summertime bluegrass provided a bed for us to do all of our daydreaming in – the best kind of bed. Real bedroom beds are for Lights out! It’s past your bedtime, and Time to get up! You’ll be late for school! Tossing and turning, sleeplessness, alarm clock buzzes and snooze button pressings and Can I have just five more minutes, please? And even, heaven forbid, the occasional nightmare. No, I’d never heard of anyone having a scary or bad daydream out there, in that field. Is there even such a thing? Daydreams are reserved for hopes and happiness, for wistful imaginings and nostalgic musings … where your thoughts go when they want to play a little, to get lost in the best of ways before you have to coax them back to reality. At least that’s what I’d like to think, anyway.
I’d go to this one grassy field sometimes when I was younger, an opening in a grove of tall trees set just behind a popular park in my small Kentucky town, and there I would lay, paying no mind to those pesky drops of water still clinging to the tips of each blade of grass. It was always morning when I was there, so the fierce summer sun had yet to burn them away. No matter though, I’d think as I stared up at the sky, patiently awaiting the arrival of the perfect cloud. Because on cloud watching day, one couldn’t be bothered by something so trivial as a dewdrop or two. Or two thousand. Continue reading