The pulse of the world

Random excerpt from the journal:

I look out my window again, but the red rock is gone. In its stead stand thousands of acres of rolling yellow grass. At first I am saddened by the loss of those rusty rocks, their color gone from my view. But then the breeze blows and I see as it spreads out across the land. I stare in amazement as the yellow menace which has taken over the beauty of red rocks becomes one giant moving mass. In unison with itself it seems to embody the pulse of the world. Bend, straighten. Dance, sway. Why? Just because it is better than standing still.

Pulse, breath. Pulse, breathe. Pulse, live. I breathe deeply, hoping to take in the philosophy of the grass by taking in the breeze which moves through it. I don't know if it works, for it smells the same as all the rest of the air. I hope its vitality seeps into my bloodstream. I hope to bend and sway, dance and straighten.