Blossoms and fresh cut grass

         Things grow in the sun-light. It may be a hot flaming ball of fire far-far away from the Earth, but in the glorious moments of spring it is the harbinger of growth and warmth in the seasons. I like to think of it as young in the spring, much like everything else. Youthful in its light, bright and fresh. Rising increasingly early with a whiter, faster, brisker light. It is our young sun raising our young plants.
         For any that have laid on the grass lately I should like to say that it is in fact alive. It is cooler than the sun, warmer than the cold, moister than the earth. And, they say, it breathes too. But, For all that talk I don't really think it minds us laying on it. No, not anymore than we mind our close and nurturing ones to lie on us. It gives us a good cuddle. Cuddle with that grass!
         The blossoms too, that bloom on trees in spring time; they are also alive. They aren't selfish, they grow in great splendor to be looked upon, and if one feels one lacks that certain natural beauty they hold they gladly share. Lie under a blossoming tree and the petals happily fall with a breeze to kiss and ornament your face.
         Often times I think they all chatter, though I do not know what of. They whisper in a great rushing voice as they talk back and forth, mingling words with wind, and one cannot help but think they tell of their recent return from wherever they go for Winter. They tell tales to eachother, and in one unanimous voice proclaim indeed that Spring is here.
         I would like to grow this season in or out of sunlight. It seems right, with the grass and blooms, to rise up and take day. Make what one will of it, but if such things as grass and trees can enjoy living so vibrantly I can scarce imagine what one can do with hands and feet. One must only ask himself in the morning what with these will I make today?