I have just completed the first mowing of the year. A combination of rain and time had allowed the grass to grow freely. Indeed, I had been watching it sway like pampas grass and had been nudged into action.
The mower, a petrol affair, seized the opportunity to frustrate me. I filled it with fuel, primed it, and the pulled the engine cord, again and again and again and again. It probably took fifteen minutes before it spluttered into life, only to cough itself out of action immediately. Something there is that doesn’t love to cut a lawn.
Anyway, first cut done in time to greet the spring equinox. The sun is now shining on a sulking patch of grass. There are a couple of nomes caught halfway over a fence in their eternal struggle for dominion. I should help them but will get no thanks; nomes are made that way.
Behind them is a starling sifting through my morning’s labour.
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