I stepped onto the wet grass.  My bare feet felt so strange,
but good, I mean, and familiar.  Then a picture as clear as glass
in a freshly washed window appeared in my mind’s eye, and
I had to stand perfectly still to resist the urge to step into it.

There I saw myself, just a girl with braids wrapped around her head,
dressed in calico with ruffles of sort and rough worn sandles on her feet.
I saw myself slip the sandals off my feet and step into the deep grass.
My own face brightened and I could hear laughter and I remembered.

I remembered how much I loved the feel of wet grass
on my feet.