"or june that breathes out
life for butterflies?" -keats


revising an old journal entry written nearly four years ago on october 3, 2006:

they mowed the lawns today, and the entire campus smelled like freshly cut grass. walking home from the library tonight, i breathed in the delicious scent rising from the wet earth. the air was cool and crisp. i wanted badly to share this with someone, but didn't know who to tell. who in my life would appreciate a simple pleasure like this one--the scent of cut grass on an autumn night--and care to hear about it from me?


i kept it to myself instead, and made a mental note to always remember smith by the smell of a newly mowed lawn. even after i've graduated, and this place is no longer home but just a dream, at least i'll have this moment: a blade of green to fold between my hands like prayer.