Listening to the dew...

I was walking to class the other day and looked down at the thick blades of grass making up the green areas on campus. Florida grass is strange to me still. Its not the soft carpet of thin slivers of green you have in Wisconsin... anyway...

I was walking as I looked over where the green met cold hard grey and noticed it to be very wet. Large beads of dew gathered on the wide blades, balancing precariously. It looked as though any moment they might slide down the central vein of the blade and disappear, soaked up by the thirsty ground below. The drops shimmered as though they were quivering in the cool morning air, but I knew this was only a trick my mind played.

There was a reason I was looking down, the morning sun in the south is a bright blaze of orange. I look down to avoid its burning through even my sunglasses as I walk. This is how I came to notice the grass and even as I look down I can see this beaming light of the sun. It reflected itself in the orbs of condensation, giving them the appearance of shivering where they sat. It was quite lovely the way they glinted like diamonds that had somehow been smoothed to have the surface of pearls.

My next thought wandered off to what it might be like if the dew covered grass were to play a song. How would it sound? As a scene in a movie, what soundtrack could I put to this lovely imagery? First I thought of my footsteps, hitting the hard concrete the sound of each falling was not muffled as it might be on grass or carpet. Perhaps this would be a bass cello, slow and deliberate. All thought, I am not sure if I wore heels that day, perhaps some striking sticks or a more resonant somewhat higher pitch would be in order for my steps. Especially if I were in a hurry.

But it seemed so peaceful in those few moments I noticed the dew. I think I will keep with a slow and deliberate bass cello. The faintest breeze surrounded me like the sound of a clarinet playing to itself. Quiet and serene, it did not wish to disturb anyone else and certainly did not bring unrest to the droplets settled upon the grass. Each blade held its glittering burden and bent itself over to do so. The low humble sound of another woodwind, perhaps an oboe, ought to be added to this ensemble. Finally, the drops of dew themselves and the sunbeams which gave them their grand appearance deserve some lovely sounds. I think a flute in a middle range trills like the light quivering over the perfect spherical surface of the water. A cymbal shivers every consistent tone like the steady rays beating down.

My eyes saw a lovely image and my mind ran off to fill the remainder of my senses with these wonderful bits. It lasted only moments I believe before my steps hurried on down the path away from the dewy grass and my mind darted off to think of work and actively listened for the sound of my cellphone warning me of possible crisis. I was grateful for a few moments of peace and serenity. I will look for them again in days to come for just a little escape.