Tall Grass

If writing was a sport, it would be the kind of sport that bloodies you nose and bruises you from head to toe. (Damn it, Not the hands, Not the hands!) But this is a solitary sport… you beat yourself up. (Open-handed slapping is right up my alley! And Yes, I know I'm a Masochistic!) You delve to find the truest emotions. You rip bits and pieces apart; you dig through the bullshit collecting on top, till you expose the clarity underneath. OUCH! Good writing is a blood sport and I wouldn’t play it any other way!

Now, once upon a time a friend, Alias: Phrixus, asked me to help him with his writing. (Personal Opinion: He didn’t really need it.) You see Phrixus has an issue with finding the will to write, the time to dedicate to it. His passion and talent have never been an issue. Anyway, my advice was to find interesting pictures or a crowded place and people watch. I told Phrixus to write whatever came to mind. No judgment, no strings, and no explanations for why the sky is violet and the black clouds sing whale songs.

My Point… sometimes I take my own advice and sometimes that advice leads me waist deep in tall grasses. No judgment, no strings, and no explanations; just bloody knuckles and sore ribs!

I was hot, tired, and pissed. Really, really pissed! But I kept walking… I wouldn’t give that ass the satisfaction on losing me to the wild.

“Rat bastard… should have known you’d leave me in the middle of nowhere. AHHHH!” I howled at the sky like I expected it to help. Childish, but the tightness in my chest softened just enough for me to inhale a decent breath. Anger had been the only inheritance I knew I’d received from my mother and right now it filled every inch of me. It was a tide wave of fire, furry, and more aggression than I’d ever felt in my life.

I stomped divots into the ground as I climbed up a hill. Treading north toward the encampment; I started counting my steps. Soon it would be dark and I would be alone. The anger was finally receding if I could think thoughts so commonplace. That’s when it occurred to me, that strong and solemn as I was I’d never spent a night away from the site. Damn it that was not a comforting thought.

By the downward slope of the third hill I was trying to find the good in my situation. It was going to be a warm night (no need for a fire) and my knife could take care of most of the predators that would try to come after me.(I was a terrifying thing with that knife in my hand.) I was a private person; this could be peaceful, a night away from everyone’s stares. That would be a first.

The mounting of hill five had me planning for the morning. Walking I’d be back to the site by full sun, and then I’d find Henry. I’d find Henry and teach him my meaning of “funny”. The images that flashed in my mind had a bubble of laughter stuck in my throat. I was not a woman for laughing, but tomorrow could be the day to change that.

Most people feared me… the visitors never did, till they get close enough to really see me. I was average, in almost every sense of the word; dark hair, green eyes, slender, olive skinned, taller than most woman, with a star-shaped scar on the back of each hand. (The tan skin almost made the scars sparkle.) I always thought the scars would be off-putting, but Henry said it was something about my eyes. Their intensity had most people tripping over themselves while they backed up.

Henry’s face full of fear and regret suddenly twinkled behind my eyelids and the laughter escaped me in a burst of merriment that I’d never once heard leave… me. Maybe I didn’t need to hurt him. He was as close to a friend as I’d ever get, but memory of his little wave goodbye suddenly filled my mind. Maybe I did have to hurt him! A broken nose, done right, wouldn’t kill him. Henry grunting, holding his nose with both hands; another laugh escaped and I listened as it pierced the warm air of my twilit hill. The stars were coming out and the moon was rising, time to find a soft place on the hard ground.

I ran with a loping stride to the hollow at the bottom of my present hill. If it got to windy I’d rather not be at the top of the knoll. Before I knew it the grass was tall, waist deep and thick. I put my arms out and brushed my fingers along the tips; feather soft and delicately swaying at my touch. I could almost imagine it was alive. It was alive and it wanted my touch, no fear. Henry may talk to me, but he never came near enough to touch me, he feared me.

I didn’t walk far before I sat down and lay my head back in the soft ground. Soft ground? The thought was lost as I watched the stars long enough for them to move. Somewhere between Orion asking Aquarius to dance and the Gemini twins riding Taurus toward the east, I closed my eyes and relaxed into sleep.

When I woke, it took me a moment to remember where I was…and why! Anger raced through my spine and I fought to control it. The sky was lightening into a misty blue and I wouldn’t let myself move. I lay there trying to relax when a glimmer of sunlight hit the grass around me. Not just green… velvet shades of purple, pink, red, orange, and yellow. My God! Anger gone, I sat up and turned my head… I lay in a field of feather soft colors. The breeze caught and it rolled like a wave of refracted light, warmth hit my face and I smiled. This field was alive. Its song and dance was only for me and meant for a friend. This was a moment to change a person; to change this person.

Maybe Henry had done me a favor. Maybe I didn’t have to hurt Henry… besides it would be fun to watch him sweat with waiting. That was close enough to my version of funny.

When the world was fully awake with sunlight I stood in my painted meadow; I faced north.

Remember: No judgement, just bloody knuckles!