Thursday, May 28, 2009

And on the Seventh Day God Didn't Mow

Sunday morning.

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.

4 comments:

Catherine said...

John, it took me two years, but I now only have one small patch of grass to mow! Now most of my yard is gravel paths around a bed that was to have been plantings but is now filled (by Mark) with tomatoes and herbs. Our neighbors call ours the "vegetable house."

Sara said...

Robert Frost writes about mowing. I mow. I like to mow. Honest. There's something Zen-like about mowing. Maybe. You must find your inner lawn mower.

John Guzlowski said...

Sara, what kind of lawn mower did he use?

Sara said...

From "Mowing:"

There was never a sound beside the wood but one,
And that was my long scythe whispering to the ground