The spaces that aren’t worth anything. Where grass comes up between broken cement slabs.

The quiet places that no one goes.

Places that feel like they are yours, but you know they really belong to no one, and that’s why they are special.

Thoughts that many think, but don’t know how to talk about them.

Put-off ideas, made unimportant because they are frightening to confront.

Humble things.


We are surrounded by grass. It comes up in many places.

Some cut it flat, then water it so it grows again. Some tear it out.

Some let it grow until the city leaves a notice on their door.

Others make grass into gardens.

Some bale and sell it.

But much of grass is unnoticed. Special in that way, grass never asks for attention.


I wish to.. make an art of noticing.

Noticing grass. You know what I mean

By grass now