Lying in a flower filled meadow amongst the thigh high grasses, I watched the wind sweep over the grass of an adjacent hillside; like the currents in an invisible stream the wind tussled and tossed the grass as it flowed, hugging the ground and swept across the landscape. Above me the sky was clear, but for a few whispy clouds which raced across my field of view as if running from the sun, and they fled with good reason, as they dissipated and disappeared under it's hot gaze, none made it out of sight. Nestled down amongst the bases of grass and flower, although I can see the grass heads flicking over me, I'm out of the breeze, warming myself like a lizard; I drift off down a labyrinth of thoughts and doze off for a short while. Then all of a sudden I'm aware again, as my eyes begin to itch and I feel a sneeze well up somewhere inside me, it then dawns on me, I'm in bed with the enemy; but by then it's too late. I let forth a chain of sneezes and decide it's time to move on. Hay fever aside, lying in summer meadow bathed in sun has to be one of the nicest ways to pass some time.
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