Friday, August 6, 2010
Crowned with a golden brown tassel sweet grass grows lush, tall, and green along the riverbank. For hundreds of years the nimble fingers of indigenous peoples weaved it into baskets and cords for everyday use. This morning I shuffled down over the steep bank and harvested some into sheaves, separated it into strands, and braided it from its golden crown to the bottom of the stem. As it is twisted and bruised it releases an aromatic scent. I had been planning to do this before I left Columbia, so I brought with me hemp (not the hallucinogenic kind) and bamboo cord to tie off the ends. My purpose in doing so was because sweet grass, once dried, can be lit and it consumes with a slow-burn releasing a sweet, soft scent. Even now, since plying it with my fingers, I can cup my hands around my face and and breathe in the sweet fragrance that clings to my hands.