In The Tall Grass

 I just came across an old journal entry that explains a bit about what In The Tall Grass means to me. It's not a poem, though maybe I should turn it into one. Here is an extract from that journal entry:

A catcher in the rye is like a teacher, creating a safe space for children to be free, to be wild, to be themselves. We gathered the tall grass in the field next door, because ours was too short, and we hung it up around the hosue. I want a house where I can let the grass grow tall, and plant what I like where I like and not care what the neghbours think.

A front lawn, in our society, is like a woman's body, subject to public scrutiny, fair game for comment and criticism by anyone viewing it. It never just is. It is always on display. A well kept lawn is a landing strip. Is a Brazillian. A meadow is a bush.

Grass let grow tall is free to reveal it's true identity, it's full height, its shape and colour, grow seeds and be fertile, the seeds grow in such a beautiful diversity of shapes and patterns. A lawn let grow wild becomes an ecoystem, with buttercups, little white daisies, sturdy dandelions, and so many other things. One can lie in the tall grass and watch the butterflies. In a meadow, one can be wild and free. One doesn't need to do anything to justify being in a meadow. 

One is ON a lawn, and one might feel the need to play croquet or barbecue or throw a frisbee or play catch or… One is IN a meadow and all that needs doing is simply being there. Looking at butterflies perhaps. Laying down, one is surrounded by the tall grass, embraced by nature, and one can simply be satisfied to look at the sky.