
I am walking to the store. Your lovely lawn fills my vision as I approach your house on the corner. The grass, thick, soft reaches gently over to the cross street beyond.
So soft, so green, there is just the faint impression of a path where a few others may choose to cut across. Twelve steps it saves them, maybe fifteen, plus the sensation of the carpet underfoot.
The temptation to follow is strong.
I would resist that instinct . . . if I thought you were watching.
