Grasshopper Dreams

Flying or leaping!

Every August I notice the grasshoppers.

As I walk through a sun-baked field, dozens of grasshoppers leap before me.

Sustaining their flight for several yards, they fold their wings and drop to the ground.

With their impulsive leaps, they might be hyperactive butterflies, were not the grasshopper’s wings dry and scratchy; the butterfly’s wings satin and soundless.

Watching the grasshoppers, my mind takes its own leap.

I think about my dreams, that alternate world I explore every night, leaping over rocky paths, roiling streams, and mountain tops.

Not flying. Leaping.

High…higher…higher.

I decide when to leap. When to descend.

What a feeling!

Does the grasshopper experience this elation each time it leaps from stalk to flower?

I hope so!

In a perfect world this feeling would be universal. For now, though, I will use my imagination to envision such a world, for myself and for every creature that inhabits our fragile planet.

Flying or leaping. Awake or asleep.