The Grass Is Always Greener

Almost every morning, I walk in the dew soaked grass behind the house I'm living in. It started as therapy and I keep telling myself it is, but there's another reason. It's the only time the grass doesn't hurt my feet. The moisture softens the hay-like blades, so much so, it feels like a cushion. I know the mid-morning sun will turn that comfortable stroll into something akin to a bed of nails, taking all the leisure out of this morning routine. Sometimes I sit and watch the neighbors meticulously cut their lawns, envious of the green lush landscape they create and I have to remind myself, "it's not my house." The once bare deck is now adorned with a massive hot tub, a table with six chairs and an umbrella, but oddly no glass. A second table with a hard plastic top, I assume to make up or make due for the broken one. A grill with a giant cover and some scattered toys cover the rest. I usually pull a single chair and lean it against the house, to give myself some sort of view. It used to be a serene setting, but the addition of all these items has blocked my vantage point of nearly all of the yard. The hot sun bakes my toes, which stick out from under the shade given by the house and I hear the rumble of the John Deere, ridden by the not-so-thrilled son next door. I think about my morning walks and the cool grass under my feet. How when it's freshly cut, by someone other than the owners, the clippings embrace the tops of my feet and in between my toes. The green, brown and tan strands, look camouflaged, as if I'm prowling the yard, like my cat. I sit and watch as the mower descends into the garage and sip some spiked lemonade. Admiring the job he's done and wondering if he realizes how it is appreciated, by someone who is simply envious of how green it is. The sun has now moved over the house and my knee caps start to burn and my ice cubes melt. I return inside, alone, see some grass on the rug from the early morning stroll and wonder, about the son and his family. Wonder if their house feels more like a home. Wonder if their lives match that grass that always seems to be greener elsewhere. My cat jumps up on the bed, nudges my dangling hand, and is rewarded with scratches and pats. He tires quickly, then licks his paws. Bright green strands fall and I stare at them. He's been there, he knows, but he always comes back. I guess that's all I need to know.