Braiding the Grass

I gathered three long, supple blades of dried grass from beside the gravel park path. Sitting on the low crossbar of a weathered wooden bench, I carefully folded the first stem over the second, testing how they bent against my thumbs. The grass felt papery and smelled like sun-warmed tea. It took a patient moment to keep the tension steady against the bench post, but soon a small, neat braid formed. When a distant bicycle bell chimed through the trees, I paused to listen, holding the braid secure against the wood until the echo faded. Everything feels right when you take your time.