In a meadow, far from the hazelnut trees, near the tinkling tinkle of Clear Water Pond, lived Little Blade. She was the greenest of greens, with roots down deep and arms spread wide to catch the warmth and light of the Golden Eye.
One fine morning a shadow tousled past. It tip-siddy top-siddied, thither and nigh, and landed on blade nearby.
Little Blade asked, “Flutter-fly, Flutter-fly, what is your name?”
The flutter-fly, in a most careless manner, answered:
“I am a Butterfly.
I fluttered here. I fluttered there.
I tipsy-toppsied in the air.
Then I landed here near you
and off I go to somewhere new.”
Then off Butterfly flew without so much as a how-do-you-do.
Little Blade, with roots down deep, began to wish she were a butterfly. Flittering flotsam in the air/toppling turning, here and there.
As she pondered this lovely thought, another shadow passed aloft. It zippidy-zipped, thither and nigh, and landed on a blade nearby.
Little Blade asked, “Fuzzy-fuzz, Fuzzy-fuzz, what is your name?”
The fuzzy-fuzz, in a very flurried voice, answered:
“I am a Honey-bee. I buzz–
From flower-top to flower-top,
No time to talk, no time to stop.
No time to waste beneath the shade.
It’s time for honey to be made!”
Then off Honey-bee hummed with no farewell for Little Blade.
Little Blade, with roots down deep, began to wish she were a honey-bee– to buzz about, from flower to flower/ in wind and mist and springtime shower.
The more she thought of Butterfly and Bee, the heavier her roots, the sadder was she. To fly about, off the ground, had the most glorious, marvelous sound!
As she sat with roots of lead, another one leapt overhead. It hoppidy-hopped, thither and nigh, and landed on a blade nearby.
Little Blade asked, “Hoppidy-hop, hoppidy-hop, what is your name?”
The hoppidy-hop, in a most gracious manner, answered:
“I am a Cricket.
I hopped about, from tree to glade
Until landed on this blade.
And who are you? Astounding green!
The greenest green I’ve ever seen!”
Little Blade, in a most disappointed whisper, answered:
“I’m just another blade of grass
Over which the others pass.
I’m stuck here in the earth so deep.
N’er to fly or buzz or leap.”
The Cricket dropped from that blade nearby and tip-toed close under that Golden Eye. He came so near to Little Blade’s ear– near so near so she could hear.
“Why, Little Blade, a secret have I,
to tell about the earth and sky.
Without you and your roots down deep,
none could fly or buzz or leap.
You make the air, which makes the wind.
Upon its gusts, our flight depends.
Your beauty and your ebbing grace
creates a softer landing place.”
Then Little Blade thought anew an earth without a sky of blue. No fields of green set in motion by the grasses’ windy notion. She felt her roots in fragrant brown and wiggled in them deeply down. She stretched up tall, as high as high/ the heat, the light, the Golden Eye.
The cricket winked and bowed so low, then sprung to the air, to and fro.
“Thank you,” called Little Blade, “Must you go? There’s so much more for me to know.”
“You wait, Little Blade. I’ll come again,” he promised with a grateful grin.
As Little Blade dozed in the dark of night, she dreamt she flew in daytime’s light. For grasses neither fly nor leap, yet surely they have dreams they keep.
copyright Nicole R Dickson January 1996