The Grass Is Greener

Grass. Dark green grass. As a kid, I was repelled by it—thousands of tiny blades that made my legs itch. Today I was drawn to it. The neat lush squares of grass lying at the bottom of small waterfalls in Scottsdale’s Canal District were beckoning me.

Baby boy and I sat on the grass, felt it between our fingers and our toes, and inhaled its scent. I forgot how fresh it smells, how smooth each blade feels and how it infuses the air with moisture. Among the concrete and the arid desert, we were sitting on a small patch of another world. This perfect rectangle of lush grass transported us to a place of wonder and peace, where only the two of us existed.

As we walked back to the car, I felt fresh and renewed. Thanks to a little patch of grass.

The Grass Is Greener

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