Greetings, pets and people. Today I’m talking about one of my favorite things: grass.
I went on a walk today and sniffed eight different kinds of grass. It took a considerable amount of time which annoyed my mom to no end. Mom thinks all grass is the same but this is erroneous (if you’re a yorkie-poo and you’re reading this, look it up).
Grass is not all the same. There’s the grass by the apartment where I saw that bunny that one time (big shout-out to the bunny: you know who you are, sir, and next time, you and I are gonna have words). There’s the field grass by the mailboxes. There’s grass by the pool that is super interesting. Grass by the railroad tracks that’s extra soft. There’s picnic blanket grass and rest-stop grass and grass after it’s mowed. Grass has a smell and a taste and a story.
But grass is only grass if you don’t take the time to sniff it, rub your head against it, roll around in it. Grass, my friends, has nuance and aroma and life in it. It smells like sunshine and chlorophyll and pure joy. I bet you didn’t know pure joy had its own smell. It does.
Off to nap in the sun,
Madigan, PhD in Awesome, Emphasis in Grass-tonometry
Dad and Mom enjoying a patch of happiness at the Asian Festival in Franklin Park.