Tonight we wander the fresh mown grass,
barefoot. Winter feet refused to believe it were possible—
but here we are, naked of sole and stepping slow
on soft green earth. Sometimes a whole life
folds into a moment, a moment such as this one,
when the scent of grass is bright in the air
and the sun slants a long and golden trail
and the breeze barely whispers
and the swallows redefine gravity
and you know you belong among the wildflowers
and you start to believe in impossible things
like now, like here, like soft green grass.