Nip slip

Warm Rain Wisdom

I didn't question why the green craftsman started without blood, sweat, tears, a sore shoulder, or a sailors vocabulary.  This push mower spent its elementary years cutting the old foot path of the morris canal in stewartsville, nj.  During middle school it servered my parents well on their 3.5 acres in philomont, VA before taking the back burner to its bright green cousin, a john deer (you could sit upon!). When my soul ached for a bit of tamed grass about my house, it...in its highschool years became mine.  Hello Bluemont, VA...and hello impossible to start push mower, and not readily able to turn off, Meredith meet spark plugs. But not tonight, not this night. I needed the refreshing stability of cut grass, and the craftsman delivered. Patches of lush emerald islands submitted to the ancient blades. I was grateful.  A joyful noise grateful. This girl in rolled up jeans, crispy river wise been outside for 6 months asics, a not so white shirt from a snuggling dirtied paw foster pup, and a small stick around the starter cord pushed the mower as the blue skies darkened and a light warm rain fell. Bliss! I beamed as i walked behind this old mower, one that has served my family for over 15 years. The scrappy yard quickly shaped up. I would be the only one to notice, akin to the big hair trim....of 3 inches. THREE inches. A mere 1/4 of a foot to most, but much more to me. Thank god for crusty mowers.

Content

Long night, ready to sleep.

Great Horned Owl