Mowing Day

January 1996
This morning the world is new. Things exist now that did not exist before the lawn got mowed. Weeds to the sky, that was always my motto, although it was unofficial, of course. Hidden and pushing forward on my belly, I did love that tall tangle with the speckled light shining down and the soft movement of the sky against my earhairs;  there was always the whish of the day-dreaming grass, thick with singing bugs and my nose covered in yellow pollen.

They had to use giant whacking machines first. The noise almost drove me out, which is what they wanted, I know. After the whackers, they came on with a finer machine, not quite so loud, but still horrible. By that time I had become enchanted with the transformation and was perched on the fence behind the stone pillar to admire the process. I had seen this before. They could not fool me.

Finally, the small smooth humming machines arrived, turning the whole world into a velvet carpet purring to be rolled on. So I did. It was heaven. And the sweet scent of that lovely grass with each blade snipped to the exact height of its neighbor. Aah! The wonder of it.

all rights reserved by Kathlynne Moonfire 2011