Dry grasses wave across prairie lands, and to some they are drying and dead. Others see a forethought to potential.
There was a time not so long ago when I stood tall, but bent; drying without a fight; willingly succumbing to the human drought and embracing a future as a fire starting weed.
Yet I say ... there is potential in every withering sward. Else I wouldn't have such a lovely photograph, non?
You may look in the mirror this morning and see nothing particularly significant - perhaps you are suffocating, perhaps you are bitter, perhaps angry, outraged or discouraged. Come and I shall catch your beauty with the lens of my heart. Then I will turn the viewer toward you and let you see what I do.
You shall be surprised!