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.
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4 comments:
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."
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.
Sara, what kind of lawn mower did he use?
From "Mowing:"
There was never a sound beside the wood but one,
And that was my long scythe whispering to the ground
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