Here’s a little ditty I through together the other day, as inspired by the phat grass. Understand that there are no lawns where I live, so being VT bound for a bit, full use is being made of the luxury:

Green Grass

Soft blades fit perfect between the spaces of my toes, tickling the nether regions of bare feet,

while their neighbors generate unparallelled aromatic pleas of mercy before being briefly beheaded by a noisy, red, sit-on-top mower.

Laying lazily under a tree made just perfect for climbing, letting cleaish air cycle through open lungs (my lifelong partners in crime).

Book: rising, falling dynamically; sychronized to an aveolic clock of lethargic character.

The sun shines: this shit is unreal

In other words, la vie est bonne