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It was the kind of green you could almost taste, and it stretched for miles. This must be what Ireland looks like, I thought. It was a dumb thing to think, but my mind was snatched by the vast, verdant fields. I think I even said that phrase to myself. And then felt dumb about it. I do that a lot.
The point is that, when you’re confronted with that much of any color, it can be mind-boggling. And I don’t like the term ‘mind-boggling’ – but I use it a lot. I know. That doesn’t make sense. Things don’t make sense to me a lot of the time.
Going to stare at grass like you expect it to give you answers.
I guess I could have gone to look at water, or trees, or skyscrapers. There were lots of choices. I don’t know why I settled on grass. Maybe because there was a big old patch of grass nearby and I’m lazy. Maybe because I think the color green should mean something. Gatsby, old chap. Growth. New opportunities. Literature classes refuse to let green just be green.
I did run my fingers over the grass. I did pluck a blade of grass and put it between my thumbs to make a whistling sound. I did run, briefly, before I remembered that I was old and running is not as fun when you’re old. I did a lot of things.
I did not have any epiphanies. I did get stung by a bee, but it was my fault. I was trying to get too familiar with the bee and she wasn’t having it. I asked for that sting.
So, you want to know how all this ties together? It doesn’t. It doesn’t mean a thing. But there is potential. This story is green. And you know what they say about green.
They say lots of things, and most of them aren’t true.
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