The green green grass (on the other side)
With spring turning the limp tufts into lush green grass again my thoughts are turning to the other side. They say the grass is not greener over there, but I don’t know. It sure looks that way. With every fibre of my being I want to be there, in that patch of green green grass.
Work is great there: it is gratifying, with wonderful people, it pays well, and is just around the corner from my house.
The sun shines most of the time, it rains only during the night. Keeps the farmers happy, and the fruit in the garden abundant. We live in the garden as much as in the house. I could have my own vineyard if I knew how.
There is a fabulous baker around the corner where I get fresh bread every morning, and pastries on a Sunday.
I’m sure I can see it from here. How do I get there?