The Meadow
The grass stretched for miles and miles, far beyond the reach of a mundane eye. At the horizon, green collided with blue where the vast sky seemed to bend down and nuzzle the insect bitten tips of the grass, soothing away the sting. Chlorophyll had washed the lea in a thousand different shades of vivid green and as one walked about, he realised that the cool, damp earth below was but a stage for the beauty of nature. In some places, the grass was sun-drenched, invading one’s olfactory receptors with the scent of subtle springtime, while in other places the stalks bent their heads modestly, seeking cool shade under a solid rock, allowing the ants to march on their surface. Some of the stalks wore a feathery cape, tickling your fingertips as you let them trail past and made the area appear lush and as soft as a newborn’s skin, while other blades showcased a well-trampled brown, coarse and spiky to the touch pouring out a dusty scent when broken.
Within the protective embrace of the viridescent stalks, lay a plethora of wild-scented flowers supported by succulent leaves, created and scattered by Mother Nature herself. So rich was the colour seeped into their soft petals that they glistened like jewels under the blazing sun and the hues seemed to create a kind of vibrant war. Quaint purple merged into full blown crimson, nocturnal reds clashed against ferocious oranges, pale yellows highlighted the vivid violets and the mauve contrasted the azure blue. The air was permeated with a serotonin induced fragrance; like warm sunshine trapped in dew drops, which intruded upon the consciousness, leaving a bitter-sweet taste on the tongue. If delicately rubbed between the fore finger and thumb, the pigment of the petal stained your skin a flamboyant shade.
Some of the plants had managed to crawl onto the cool water of the bottomless lake where the sun’s rays pirouetted animatedly. Frogs croaked on the bobbing lily pads and small fish played amidst the tangles of the reeds and fleshy ferns. The lake for most part of the time, lay placid and patient, glass reflecting clear sky, under the iridescent winged dragonflies, stirred out of its deep slumber by the sighing breeze or when the bubble blowing guppies swam to the sun- warmed surface. One could feel small fish nibbling at the skin when he slipped his hand into the silky shallows of the water or invigorate himself by inhaling the cool saturated air.
In the distance, the swishing of well-worn trees, the relentless buzzing of fat bees and the croons of the birds swirled together in a light melodious harmony, the notes balancing precariously on the gusts of wind carrying it up to the sky where Apollo’s fiery caress wrapped around the swollen clouds, tingeing them a blush red, making the sky glow a deep golden fading into an ethereal blue. Later when the Sun would set, shrouding everything in its charcoal blackness, the fireflies appearing so ordinary in the daylight will come crawling out and silently illuminate the night like a million little stars, mirroring the galaxy above.