Daisies

Rubbing the grass between my fingers, hoping my fingers get stained, I look out across the soccer field. The late-evening summer wind blows gently on my cheeks, across my forearms. Bringing my palm up to my eyes, I open up my hand and let the wind carry it all away.

Slender shards of grass, scatter back to the earth. Falling around this bright yellow flower. It is the 60s. A bright daisy, tilting to one side, unsure if it’s to stand up straight or wilt in time. Stretching its neck out to the sun, it’s ears perked up to get one more hit of psychedelic rock. Or perhaps the gentle strum of an acoustic guitar.

The field begins to creak and moan, as the night descends. A few tears from the sky, feels like salty drizzle on my palms.