THE GYPSY GRASS

You asked me for a story – and I just do not have that many 

stories left. They fell into a cooling pot of yesteryears and best 

just left and then I remembered – there is one story I would like 

to tell. The story of the Gypsy Grass. The softest greenest place 

to go is just inside the Gypsy Grass. The bears and frogs  are 

resting now and we can walk and feel the spell that is the waiting 

Gypsy Grass.   

      
     A long time ago before the time of shoes and clanging bells we 

still knew the silence of being alone with another heart. Take my 

hand and we will go and listen to a song of grass and greenest 

brown and morning scent. The closest place between the last 

most tender memory the earth would ever weave is waiting in the 

grass and love of child and earth and gentle beast.   

     
     If I could sing a song to you this would be what I would choose. 

I would brush your skin with truth and I would sing to you of days 

that we have yet to celebrate and memories we have yet to 

make. I would hum against your cheek a song of shell and 

evergreen. You could close your eyes and see the light 

that shows where we will meet.  

     
     And all around the Gypsy Grass is waiting for your heart to 

meet a vision of what you have dreamed and ever after you will 

know - some things are real because of you and they are called the 

sacred truth.  

      
     The bears and frogs are stirring now because they want to 

honour you. I can hear you in the grass. And I can feel your 

longing reach and when you capture what you need only then to 

set it free, we will plant our harmony and paint a song 

remembering and we will lay our kisses down upon  the 

fragrant Gypsy Grass. 

Catherine MacAdam