Step inside.

Or in the “mouth of the south” The Day My Ass was Grass “ It wasn’t really about the grass. But it felt like everything to me. --- He stood there looking at the pond, seeing what it could be— clean lines, trimmed edges, something that looked intentional. Something that looked… finished. And I stood there looking at the same water, but I wasn’t seeing a project. I was seeing a living thing. The tall grass he wanted to cut back? I saw protection. I saw fish tucked into shadows,