11
Mowing
by Bc Hannold ·
Mowing
I set upon that summer weekly ritual,
Mounting my steed, roaring to life with a sputter of protest.
Whirling steel blades reducing my lawn to the earthy smell of fresh cut grass.
Mindlessly, I repeat the pattern of rectangles, circles and swirls,
Enjoying the overcast sky, restraining the brutality of the summer sun.
A spit of rain, splashes, and is gone. Ah, a relieving oasis on this summer morn.
Around the house, and down the yard toward the garden,
With purple martins clearing the way , as mustangs escorting bombers over Germany.
Swooping and diving, a midair dance clearing the way of insects stirred by the whirling blades.
Bouncing and bounding over the lawn, a somber moment as I trim around Izzy,
My faithful companion for 15 years, missing the fun times and unconditional love.
A bridge between my first life and this one, wondering if she is playing with Nadine,
Who left this earth for a better place. A bridge between Nadine and Lois my current wife.
And I am reminded of all the wonders that I have received, and joy returns with a thankful heart at all I have today.
