The grass was as dewy and crisp as icicles that dangle down the railings in the wintertime. I stared, looking into the army of green blades that whispered back and forth to each other in the wind, and I just knew they were spreading secrets. I smiled a little in sympathy with them, sharing the secret world of my own with them. If only I could scream out my life into the heavens! If only God would hear and put it away and smile. Would the grass tell? Would the flowers tell? Would they cry for me--I knew they would. But I wouldn't want their beauty to be faded and smudged by humid, sticky tears. It would wash away the pinks, the navy blues, into a watercolor puddle that sat there being soaked up by the air. Then it would be gone.
