A Simple Gift

Leaves of Grass, copyright 2011 by Caris Cerdwyn, all rights reserved

"A Child said to me, 'what is grass?' fetching it to me with full hands;
How could I answer the child?....I do not know what it is anymore than he..." 
                                           Walt Whitman from Leaves of Grass

That little patch of lawn outside my window, carefully cut, kept neat and contained has lost its sense of wildness, though if it were left alone for just a few months, it would regain its original identity fully.  Still, those leaves of grass are home to more forms of life than the naked eye can see, or even a canine nose can track. 

Some time ago, I worked as a chaplain at a nursing home.  One day one of the activity assistants asked a circle of women what they missed most.  Imagine that...imagine being there in a home for elders, toward the end of your life, when loss has come at you from every direction imaginable.  Losing your home, losing a spouse, outliving relatives and friends, watching your body change, losing some of your basic functions, so much loss.  A question such as that one would be likely to bring a flood of emotion.  But one woman looked up and said:  I miss going barefoot, walking in the grass, feeling it tickle my toes.

So the activity assistant got some boxes and planted grass, watched it sprout.  By that time the women had forgotten the question and were surprised to see her bring a box of grass and sit on the floor beside the woman who had missed going barefoot.  Socks and shoes were removed and I doubt that a soft blanket of grass ever felt so wonderful to anyone on the planet.  such kindnesses we humans are capable of offering. 

Perhaps the generals and political leaders in our world should be told this story, and then go walking barefoot together on a lush, green lawn.  And be reminded of the simple sweetness of life, the kindnesses beneath our feet and above our heads and at our sides.  Perhaps peace could be found there in the kindness.