Green Grass

We had a bicycle rodeo at school today. After lunch, kids lined up on bikes of various sizes, pink and blue and black and green plastic helmets gleaming in the sun, and paraded around the back parking lot. The sun was shining, but it was a kinder, gentler brand of sunshine than the kind we're used to in July, August, and September. This was a sun happy to see people absorbing its radiation; it has not yet lost interest after looking down on bathers and gardeners and grass too green not to invite a beating down. A breeze made it a gracious moment.
This is the last week of school, and the faculty decided to have a Spirit Week; we need the encouragement. We've almost reached the finish line, but have discovered we're just about out of gas. (It's not just an expensive commodity at the pump!)
My students and I sat on the sloping hill next to the black asphalt and watched the younger ones peddle furiously as they began the first race. One boy, American flag lashed to a stick which was duck taped to the back bar, honked his horn as wheels spun. The red, white, and blue flapped jauntily in the breeze he was creating. We cheered him on, calling out his name and others'. It wasn't so stifling that we didn't have the energy to encourage others. Another boy careened by the patriotic wheeler, almost knocking into him. We shouted, "Watch out!" They both came out of the turn, and went on, never heeding the possibility of a crash. Bicycle crasher went on to outstrip everyone and won the race. We cheered for him but clapped and hooted wildly for the last child who hadn't been able to keep up, or even get her bike going for that matter, as she crossed the finish line. "WOOHOO!!"
After the initial excitement for those of us watching-none of my students had brought their bikes, being too old and "cool"-we most of us flopped back on the grass. It was so green and warm and springy. We ignored the little black and orange striped bugs that would land on our legs or arms, then hop onto a nearby blade of grass. I leaned my head back, sniffing the fresh green scent and looking at the poodly-type clouds that hung just overhead. Someone sprinkled blades of grass which had been pulled up by their roots in my hair. Another student discovered a large brown spider and suggested that it might be "a Brown Recluse, maybe!" We all watched it with revulsed fascination. I was glad they didn't decide to place the spider in my hair as well.
Too soon, it was time to go in. All the bike contest participants smiled sweaty, (mostly) gap-toothed grins as they wheeled their transportation inside the building. It was a sweet mom and flaky crust apple pie kind of moment....the kind that gets lost in news reports of earthquakes and fuel barrel prices and body counts. Sitting with my students under the blue sky in the silky breeze and warm sunshine was something spectacularly real, uncontrived, and therefore, glorious. But I think my favorite part of the whole experience was the green grass. Its color and texture and scent were what kept me anchored to my spot. It was a time that was planted and will maintain roots deep in my memory.