; It Goes On

Beat up Blades

The snow finally melts, revealing the faded grass.
The green has dulled but it's still there,
matted beneath old autumn leaves.
The blades have been beat up,
Bent and folded under ice and tree remains.
But it's still there.
Waiting for the safety of spring,
How ironic.
The most abusive season that thrashes its potent liquids against the green's soft lashes helps the blades thrive.
Raindrops will crash down on the earthy tips mercilessly, washing away its fortress and crowning mud as the new emperor.
Yet only for the sake of encouraging the gentle color to flood the ground again, shining brighter and standing taller.
Isn't that peculiar?

-Evelyn