Yesterday’s Word Bohemia prompt…
The long heat of a southern day dispersed around the house. He sat down with a cup of tea, feeling the heat of the cup against his calloused hands, and surveyed the fields.
One of the strangest things had been the feeling of the grass, the prickly hardness of the ground, and how the grass was never truly soft and green. As a child, a blade of grass was a soft as silk, yet as sharp as a knife. He had gotten cuts from picking it too fast, in an effort to entertain with the sound of an elephant.
In this country, the grass was not felt nor smooth. It was spiky, feeling bristly underfoot when you walked. You kept it short, because of what hid in it, and because it was all a tinderbox waiting for a match.
Above the clouds turned purple and orange in the sunset’s wake. Sometimes he almost felt he was not in the world that he grew up in, but somewhere else, a fairyland where it nearly never rained and creatures as strange as unicorns roamed.