Maybe he is the one who stares at the ground,
Watching as the ants march on,
Building their nest, making a home.
Witnessing as the insects and shadows flit by him, paying no mind to his presence.
Maybe he is the one who picks at the ground,
Noting how every rock and spec of dirt work,
In awe of their strength to keep the earth together.
What the earth lacks in colour, it makes up in integrity and determination.
Maybe he is the one who sees the earth, mud and dirt,
Realising its ability to help plants grow, to cradle water underneath its surface, life itself.
The wonderful power, all beneath his feet.
Maybe he is the one who gets told to stare at the skies more,
To find beauty in what is above him rather than below.
He was never one to follow advice.
Maybe he is the one who smiles at the ground, the insects and animals who call it home,
Even hidden in the darkest of nights and brightest of days,
There is beauty in the earth.
Maybe he is the one who saw a girl gazing up at the skies,
Maybe she was the one who noticed the boy watching the ground.
In one shared glance,
They both knew they shared the same thoughts, the appreciation,
That can only be found
In the skies and in the ground.