There they lay, inhaling the sweet scent of dew resting its weary soul on the tips of grass

Beads of water reflecting the light they receive back to the sun as they let the wind pass

The wings of butterflies kiss the air as they decorate this blue sky they are looking up at

An uncountable number of people all laying in the grass on their back

Hands under their head as they bask in the perfection we tried to confine with the name nature

The clouds change according to the eyes they fall upon, an it, a him, a her

The winds caress them all as if it wishes to blanket them with a sense of serenity

The depth of blue fills their heart as it whisks away all thought, leaving them empty

The beauty of being in the moment is that forever hides behind the curtain

Peeking at you through memories embedded through a connection

They all have a past they placed their backs upon to make sure the grass doesn’t touch them

Hiding their sense of being behind the colors of the leaves blocking some of their views

But they all appreciate the chances that sleep in the endless horizon of this azure canvas

One of the people decides to enhance their scene by holding up a flower by its stem

Others look for hidden shapes in the trees that surround them and as the bees for clues

But some have become jaded to the beauty of colors and couldn’t care less

But even so, they are still part of this group, still a part of this “entity”

They still get kissed by the same rays that fall from the sky ever so gently

…

Differences are the lines that define the space each person rests on

Their perceptions differ based on their walk towards this place

They won’t let their cohesiveness be thwarted by concepts like right and wrong

Together they look at the future that tends to move at an unknown pace

But strong they lay as their similarities tie them to this glade

The pain afflicted to the trees that surround them, be it mad or god made

Saddens each heart afflicted by the crack it represents in their sky

The sense of pride that courses through their hearts as one of their birds fly

Stepping outside of “self” and seeing strange not as an enemy but as a thing of beauty

This to me is what you may call a community