Can you relate to this scene?
It's the weekly ritual, 6:30 am Saturday morning and my neighbor begins. I hear that infernal machine start up, the bladed executioner, his rolling chariot of yard clipping chaos roll out of the storage shed cocoon. Back and forth it sweeps, death in its wake as my neighbor rides blithely on, oblivious to what is going on. Never mind it is Fall here and the grass hasn't grown 1/2 inch since last week.
I of course have time to ponder all this because his infernal contraption has no muffler. But then it must blare on to hide the cries below. And so I wonder, does he ever really try to speak to the grass. Has he heard the noble dandelion's plea for life as his machine lops it's radiant head off? Years ago, after rolling the momma of all fatties, I got off my mower, laid down with the lawn, and we communed for hours. Our yard has never been the same since! So I ask have you talked to your grass? For sure that day mine talked to me.
