There’s just something about marsh grass in early summer. A most perfect union of growth and green infused with all the promise and potency of life. Even in the face of a sterling sunset it was the marsh grass that captured my wonder. Conditions were wonderful this past Saturday, and I’m grateful I was perfectly situated along Great Bay Boulevard to take it all in. Sure the no-see-ums dined a great feast upon my bare shins—still sporting dozens of bites some five days later—but my gaze was undeterred. Content to be in the moment, it was going to take more than a frenzy of pint sized buggers making a meal of my blood to break my attention.
Scanning back and forth across an endless array of bright green grasses the fluidity of life rose to the fore. As the seasons change so too does the marsh. It is at this moment, however, in the hopes and dreams of early summer that we sit at its peak. The moment when new life teems at the pinnacle of its cycle. Despite our best efforts this moment won’t last forever, and admittedly it’s hard to not fret over the inevitable aging and loss to come. Of course change is inevitable, and as the wheel rolls on life too will return anew.
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