A big brown fence had taken over the meadow, a sunny, dreamy meadow. On the other side of the fence grass was swishing as a chilly wind goes past. We had to climb over the big brown fence to get to the meadow. My brother was already on it. He kicked it, making the wire vibrate.
Eventually it was my turn. I started gripping on to the flaky piece of wood, bits fluttering down like butterflies in the wind. I had put one leg over then another. My flip flops slipped
off, onto the soft grass of the meadow. I carefully put my bare feet down to a thick, luxurious soft carpet of grass. The sun shimmered down like the first morning of spring.
I stumbled to my knees and fell onto my back. I began to roll and roll. My brother had started rolling too. Soon we were in a pencil roll race, rolling over grass. There were no sticks, no stones, just a plain meadow, doing things you would usually do in soft grass: handstands, cartwheels and piggyback rides. My brother and I were having the best time like children should do rolling in fresh grass of a soft meadow smelling the air just like the daisies release there air freshener.