As your week comes to a close, we at Bwog offer you our regular bit of Friday respite, and this week a bit of respite from the regular. As always, if you seek hard journalism, a bit of campus culture, or the latest scandal waiting to happen, look elsewhere (we recommend here, here, and here respectively). If you are looking for a good story however, may we present a piece from an anonymous Bwog correspondent and nature-lover.
No one takes notice of me. But I watch. They are all on edge. Something is shifting and they find it unsettling. Some are wearing shorts, goose bumps lining their skin as they wrap their arms around sun-deprived shoulders. Others pull at their collars, shedding overcoats but still sweating through ill-chosen sweaters. Only I am at ease. This day, these changes stirring the air, it all means something.
I have been waiting so long for this moment. I have dreamt of it, suffering through fitful dreams of cravings I cannot fully satisfy. These dreams intrude upon my waking hours as images line my mind’s eye and anticipation clutches at my heart. Today I am free. No, today I am finally alive.
I wait for the crowds to subside. I am anxious but not emboldened enough to engage in exhibition. The last straggler runs into a nearby building and the door slams shut. The echo reverberates through my body and I get chills down my spine. It’s time.
I kneel near a corner of the white draping and gently run my hand along its edge. I slip my fingers under the covering and—oh God, it’s so wet. The moment is perfect. With my other hand I peel back the white bindings that hold this masterpiece captive. I pause and let both hands explore the naked surface and lean in to inhale the scent I have craved for too long. I feel light-headed from the intensity of the smell. This doesn’t deter me—far from it. Instead I feel stimulated, perhaps a little too much. I decide to slow down; I want to make the moment last.
I run my hands ever so lightly across what I have uncovered, barely making contact. Even the slightest touch has an effect. My hands start moving quicker, my movements more urgent. I stop suddenly, panting. Are we ready for this? Is now the time? The wind stirs and I get a whiff of the heady scent that had almost pushed me over the top just moments before. God, oh god, yes.
Once again taking the corner of the drape, I unveil the rest of this natural beauty. My heart stops. Even my wildest dreams could not have prepared me for this. It’s…exquisite. My eyes are blinded by green. Pure, perfect green: a color that only exists here in this moment. The sunlight reflects off of the sea of rising stems and creates a golden halo. Each stem stands tall and strong, rising to drink in the sun’s rays and my reverential gaze.
I lower myself to the ground and hesitate before lying down fully. I am afraid of crushing the beauty beneath me, but I remember its strength through the winter—how it survived while held captive by the oppressive tarp—and I know that this work of nature is strong enough. I allow myself to lie facedown among the stems and my heartbeat quickens as I am overwhelmed by the warm, moist scent of these green beauties. My toes curl and I grip the ground with my fingers, not quite hard enough to penetrate. I stay like that for a moment, holding on for as long as I can, until I finally sink my fingers into the earth. We are one. I feel the blades on my face, my neck, my thighs, and I am in pure ecstasy. I hold back an exclamation of, “Oh God, yes!” but cannot contain the deep groan of pleasure that emits from my body. Stems are pushing against my hands as my fingers remain in the ground, and I wonder who is penetrating whom. But that doesn’t matter—it never did. Our union is bliss, and that’s all anyone can ever hope for.
Finally I exhale, and I feel a release. Gently withdrawing my fingers from the ground, I roll over and lie on my back, spent. The grass, ever so tender, sways in the wind and gently strokes my arms and legs. The sun warms my face and behind my eyelids I see starbursts of red, pink, and orange. These are the colors of our passion. Green is the color of our love.
Sensing that it is time, I give the blades of grass a parting caress. I stand and walk to the discarded tarp, ripped off and thrown to the side in the heat of the moment. As I carefully fold the covering, doors are flung open and masses of students pour out of the surrounding buildings. Some are surprised by the sudden emergence of the green beauty before me. Most do not notice. I continue to fold and the students rush on to their next destinations. None of them know of the bliss that occurred not long ago.
I turn off the sink and go to grab a paper towel, but something outside the window catches my eye. I see a lone person crouching in a patch of the most stunning green I have ever seen. I am mesmerized. I watch their every movement as my heart beats faster and faster. The person lies down and I realize that I am watching a profound moment of ecstasy. I cannot look away and my breath catches in my throat. Too late, I realize I have missed my entire class. But I don’t care. I remain transfixed, wondering, hoping. Can it be? Is it possible that there is someone who shares my passion for those majestic stems?
Soon-to-be-discarded bindings via Shutterstock