Barefoot in the Grass

My own prescription for health is less paperwork

and more running barefoot through the grass.

Terri Guillemets

This morning I brought my coffee out onto the deck.  As I gazed into the back yard, I could hear the grass calling to me.  I slipped off my slippers and clad only in my nightgown and summer robe, I placed my bare feet upon the plush carpet of grass.

A respected friend once told me that every day she slips her shoes off and steps outside upon mother earth.  No matter what season it is, my friend has the need to feel this connection with the energy in the ground.

Another friend of mine is frequently seen hugging a tree in her bare feet or swaying to an inner song with her arms reaching up to the sky.  She says she finds bliss when her bare feet are connected to the ground and her hands are reaching for the Divine.

As a child, I destested the restraints of shoes.  I ran barefoot and the soles of my feet were like leather.  I dearly loved the moist grass tickling my bare feet.  I spent hours lying in the grass staring at the blue sky while searching for shapes in the lofty white clouds.  I felt safe being supported by the earth and entertained by the birds and the sun peeking through the branches of the tall trees. 

As I stood in the back yard this morning, I was amused thinking of my childhood magical times.  I also realized my childhood was spent in a busy city surrouded by apartment buildings.  I was probably quite entertaining to all of the apartment dwellers and passers-by. 

Deciding that I was probably being just as entertaining to my neighbors in my night clothes as I had been as a child, I reluctanly left the yard.  But not before I felt the rich green grass waking up my bare feet with energy escalating up my legs.  I felt rejeuvenated and grateful for the moments being connected bare foot in the grass.