A Narrow Fellow in the Grass

My favorite poet, Emily Dickinson, wrote a poem called A Narrow Fellow in the Grass:
A narrow fellow in the grass

Occasionally rides;

You may have met him,--did you not,

His notice sudden is.

The grass divides as with a comb,

A spotted shaft is seen;

And then it closes at your feet

And opens further on.

He likes a boggy acre,

A floor too cool for corn.

Yet when a child, and barefoot,

I more than once, at morn,

Have passed, I thought, a whip-lash

Unbraiding in the sun,--

When, stooping to secure it,

It wrinkled, and was gone.

Several of nature's people

I know, and they know me;

I feel for them a cordiality;

But never met this fellow,

Attended or alone,

Without a tighter breathing,

And zero at the bone.

I took this picture in a meadow by Lake Brittle, where my first blog entry's photo was taken. The grass looked exceptionally inviting that day and I laid on my stomach and shot a few pictures on the level of the grass. It's an unusal view, but one that I've grown to love. I love the details and the contrast of each blade. It's love.

Shot with film, developed by hand.