We mow it. We water it. Heck, we fertilize it, pull weeds out of it, edge it, and spray it, but when’s the last time you laid down in it? I don’t mean sit on a blanket spread over it. I don’t even mean lying on your back with your hands behind your head staring up at the clouds on it.  I mean belly down lying, like when you was a little boy or girl.  I mean rolling down a hill on it till you itch from head to toe.

My boy came home with grass stains on his knees and I asked, “What have you been doing son?”

He held up a small cup for me to look into, smiled a big toothy smile, and said, “I found 17 four leaf clovers,” and I missed being a boy.

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