Happy Place
The wind brushes over my skin like the gentle caress of a lover.
I sit on sacred ground, blessed by the worms that have tilled the soil, the sun that blows kisses of warmth upon it, the rain that washes away impurity. The grass is not soft or manicured, but raw and honest in its being. It still bestows its generosity in shelter for the smallest creatures while carpeting the ground for me, even if I am not truly worthy of its selflessness.
