Thornbury

I couldn't sleep last night. I fretted and flopped between beds and the couch in Grandpa and Grandma's basement. When I woke up in the morning my eyes felt like they had rolls of pennies jammed into my tear ducts and my head was shipwrecked in a fog. But the day was rolling on so by 10 o clock we had finished a couple of cups of coffee, some breakfast and I was looking for something to do.

The whole gang went for a walk up the cart paths between fairways at Lora Bay. The pebbly paths were lined with Queen Anne's lace, ragweed, pink sweet peas, buttercups and long wild looking grasses. Murray and Joan discussed which families lived in which home while the boys tramped through the bushes and over boulders. We wound up down at Lora Bay park watching the Nottawasaga roll in wave after wave against the break wall. We walked back along a path behind the road speaking of pleasant, meaningless things to pass the time.

I read an interesting thing about grass today. Grass, unlike other plants, has a stem that grows from it's base and not it's tip. The visible tip is only 10% of the total plant. That's what makes it so resilient to grazing animals and lawn mowers and even fire!

Grass reminds me of people and how little we can tell about each other at a glance. People and grass are always growing from some invisible base that we'd never know unless we got down on our hands and knees and started scraping away at the surface with our finger nails. Czytaj więcej