The rain falls and falls.
My lawn calls to me. A green siren. Mow me! Mow me!
I try to ignore it. The crazy grass, the clover. The tufts of weeds I can't identify.
What did the great gray poet Walt Whitman say about Leaves of Grass?
"Pretty to look at -- long as you don't have to mow!"
I mean who invented mowing? I can't remember Noah talking about it, and Moses definitely never wrote a commandment regarding mowing.
And Shakespeare -- a guy who thought and wrote about everything -- never said a thing about mowing. He never wrote: "Oh that this too too thick grass would melt, thaw, and resolve itself into a dew--or that the Everlasting had fixed His canon against mowing!"
So I'm not mowing today, and I'm not mowing tomorrow either.