The horror! The horror!
I fired up the sourdough pancake fueled lawnmower this morning for my weekly jaunt around the yard. My preference is for a natural looking space, but I’ll grudgingly admit that most grasses look better when cut every once in a while. My grasses are mixed throughout with wildflowers, so part of me is pained every time I push the mower about. The first delicate flowers of spring, dots of pink and purple, have finally been done in by a pair of freezing nights sandwiching a week of seventy degree days. The clover and dandelions have flourished and add nice bits of color. In the weeks past, the clover have shown a definite lack of smarts by standing tall and looking about when they heard the click-clack of the mower near. They were rewarded with a quick chop from the Lord High Executioner. The dandelions had the sense to duck and were for the most part spared. This week was different. The dandelions had grown complacent. A whole new generation was fat and lush off the spoils collected from their fallen clover brethren. Even the elders, their bald heads waving in the breeze, seemed to have forgotten the survival skills that had served them well just the week before. The clover grouped together under taller thick growths of leaves and hunkered down. When the mower came by, it was a dandelion disaster. The only survivors were those few that cowered beneath the mats of flowering grasses. Bumble bees circled overhead, sensing that they had only a few hours to harvest what they could from the dandelion heads that lay scattered about the yard. Life is hard when you’re a yard flower.
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