Humans sure love a patch of grass.
Maybe it’s because we were born on the savannahs and emigrated to the river banks, where grasses tend to grow.
Or it could be because the human eye perceives more shades of green than any other colour, and grass has every single one.
Grass is such an important part of human culture that we even have a few cliches about it.
Yes, the grass is always greener. But have you ever actually watched grass grow?
Sure, it’s not exactly a white knuckle thrill. But it’s not boring either.
Checking in every day. Tempting the grass to grow this way or that. A little snip here. A seed or two there.
Tending grass — or any plant — while it grows is one of the most interesting and fulfilling things we can do with our time.
Watching grass grow: not half as dull as watching paint dry!
But then again, I’m no Picasso.
If you haven’t already, today is a great day to go for a walk.
Mum would often suggest going for a walk, usually about mid-afternoon on a Saturday, after six hours glued to the screen up to my elbows in cereal.
I, cruelly deprived of television, found this the most outrageous proposition I’d ever heard.
A lively debate about the health benefits of walking would ensue.
Several bouts of growling, groaning, and some light wrestling later, we’d burst out of my Grandmother’s little terrace and descend on the cascading, bloom-laden banks of the Thames.
And before we’d reach the water’s edge, the morning’s gloom would be all but forgotten.
Humans are great and all but we’re total cowards when it comes to nature.
It’s a miracle that we survived long enough to escape it at all.
We trap the sun in a glass to ward away wolves, wrap ourselves in comforting cloth to forget the cold of the wild, and bang our drums all night to scare off the ghosts.
And that’s all great.
But one thing we never see anymore is the stars.
Oh sure, we’ve all seen a couple of them. You probably even know the names of a few. But most people never get to truly see the stars.
That thick, soft, glimmering night that presses itself into the back of your eyes from beyond time.
The startling realization that you’ve lived 30 years in the light and haven’t really seen anything at all.
The unsettling thrill of knowing there is really no end to the places we can go and the wonders we’ll see…
But nobody gets to see the stars anymore because we’re too afraid to walk into the dark.
And that’s the only way to see them.