Remembering grass and flower

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Walking around downtown this morning on the way to work, I took my favorite short cut into Harlem Place.

It’s an alley. There’s no doubt about that, but it is quiet. As a path between streets I’m surrounded by less street noise and only the occasional person or city animal.

This morning as I was walking through, between 6th and 5th streets (hi Bryan!), my nose caught scent of fresh-cut grass.

You may take this mown green smell for granted. I don’t really smell it at all anymore. I’m not usually anyplace with grass…

Anyway, the smell. A small island of grass along a parking lot between the alley and a structure. There, I suddenly had this memory of laying in the grass at my Grandparent’s house. Raised red bricks elevating the lawn, juniper bushes and clover, and these little flowers growing in the grass.

I think, in the  memory, I was very small possibly even a toddler or a baby because I remember lying there in the green, turquoise sky overhead and my mother nearby. We were in Fremont, Hilo street, across from a school. The sound of a plane high over head.

I remember bright Italian lemons in the back yard that blossomed and made giant yellow lemons as large as two fists… and this great Avocado tree that grew delicious green fruit.

It made me very happy. I can still smell the lemon and grass. The image of the green and the flowers still bright in my mind.

Scott K Smith

“I am not interested in picking up crumbs of compassion thrown from the table of someone who considers himself my master. I want the full menu of rights.” -Desmond Tutu

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