A Blade of Grass


Simple beauty. Something as small as a blade of grass. Hit by the sunlight in just the right way.

Rose plucked it and twirled it between her fingers. This blade of grass, she thought, could hold the secret to the universe. She laid it in her palm.

The sun started to set over the meadow. Most of the grass had wilted, winter was coming. But somehow, this one blade of grass had held strong.

The trees were changing colors. Bright reds and oranges filled the land. It was beautiful, but times must change. Time must move on.

It hurt Rose to realize that the winter would come. That she had just plucked the last blade of grass had had steadfastly stood through the harsh nights. The cold, dark as pitch nights without a star in the sky.

The circle moves on. The seasons continue, and little girls grow up so fast. Rose’s hair would fall, and her disease would overtake her. But for now, in this moment, there was this blade of grass.

Rose would never experience life. She wouldn’t experience the changing of the seasons too many times, of growing up, of simply being. But she had this blade of grass. This blade of grass, that could’ve lasted through the winter had she not plucked it in its prime.

The blade of grass was held in her hand. A blade of grass. A strength that would never be appreciated. For after all, it was just a blade of grass.

She dropped the blade of grass, watching the wind drag it away into the dark of the night. The dark of the unknown.

Rose smiled. A simple smile, but one that hid worry. One that hid hurt. One that hid a girl too young who would go too soon. But it was a smile, after all.

There’s only me. There’s only tonight. We must let go, to know what’s right. Rose hummed the song she knew too well. She closed her eyes, and drifted away, a silent sleep held in a blade of grass.