almost every day in oregon, my pup and i went for a walk in the park near our house. in the middle of the park was a large grassy field.

in the winter, the field was full of puddles, mud, and the occasional duck. in the summer, the field was full of children playing soccer, sunbathers, and dogs chasing balls.

one day – i’m not exactly sure when it began – i heard a small sound while i was walking on the path around the field.

i wish i knew how to describe it to you. the best i can do is to say that it was a combination of crackling ice + whispers + rustling.

i stood still for a moment and listened, trying to determine where the sound originated.

eventually, i realized the sound was coming from the grass.

i began to pay attention and to listen whenever i was in the park.

i heard the sound in the morning, when the dew was fresh on the grass. i also heard it in the afternoon, on grey days, just after a light rain.

i grew to love the sound. it was as if the grass was whispering secrets, secrets that, if i only listened closely enough, i would be able to hear.

one grey afternoon, while i stood listening, i heard a single word.

“run!”

i ignored it, thinking it was my imagination, but then i heard it again.

“run!”

i wondered if the grass was talking to me. if, in fact, it was, i was afraid to listen. i was afraid that my feet might hurt it.

“run!” i heard again. “that’s what we’re made for!”

i took off my shoes and socks and walked into the field.

the grass caressed the bottoms of my feet and tickled the sides of my toes. the earth was firm and supportive beneath me.

then i ran, following the lead of my dog, who hadn’t waited for an invitation. i watched as the grass bent low beneath my footsteps and bounced back up again.

when i stopped to catch my breath, i heard the sound again.

it was louder this time, and full of laughter.

i threw back my head and laughed too.

the grass stains remained on my feet for days. they reminded me of an invitation – extended and accepted.

{this particular story is true, unlike most of the stories in the story club, but the essence is the same.}