mother natures touch { grace / joe }

J o e   C a v a n a h

All around me the grass rolls up and down, I imagines it look similar to what the ocean would look like, well except for the fact that it was frozen in motion. It was almost as though the creator of my home sort of just failed to remember that the ocean was alive, moving around at free will, where as this ocean was simply forgotten and over time nature took control covering the frozen waves in the substance that we call grass. It grew and grew until all I could see was what we now call the rolling hills of district ten. No one would know no difference now. I guess that is what mother nature does, it coverts things of no use into this that allow us to call the land survivable.

Beside me, an old friend, trotting along happily snacking on the shrubbery beneath our feet. I watched as the tired beast snagged at a stubborn blade of grass, his yellow teeth struggling to get a good hold. A chuckle begins to rumble its way through my body, a deep sound starting in my belly, making it way to my throat. It was something that I often got reminded sounded just like my father. The sound catches the cows attention, his beady eyes pinning me with a glare- it was almost as if he was scolding me for disturbing him, only fueling the emotion.

"Your a bloody idiot, you know that buddy?" I mumble to myself, affectionately running my long fingers through the rough pelt of his forehead. He tries to doge my hand but is unsuccessful. 

Before us the land slowly begins to even out- in the distance you could see the horizon being painted with the touches of man kind. Small buildings which looked like nothing but large stones from he distance begun to take form. Home. It doesn't take Boston long to realise before be bolts, trotting off into the distance, fading in with the horizon. Usually I would follow behind quickly, but this afternoon I hold my ground. I didn't feel the desire to follow suit too quickly. 

So instead I decided to take a seat, my heads implanting themselves into the ground, burying themselves into the dirt. It was almost as if my fingers were the roots, leading to my palms, the base, my arms the long sturdy trunks. The mind was a fascinating instrument, able to turn simple things such as my hands in the grass into images, images that only I could interpret as anything more. My lips pull back into a smile, my eyes coming to a close as I tilt my head back, the suns gentle rays caressing my face, like hands warm to the touch.