The Race

The sun's reflection is blinding in my rearview mirror as I drive east down the hill near my home.  I wonder if it was worth the five minute detour to return the almost overdue library book on the way home, and decide that there is still enough daylight left to at least start.  Upon arrival, I quickly drop my things on the dining room table and head back outside - the race begins.  Pick up litter in the yard, get out the ancient mower, plug it in (yes, it's electric) (Doesn't that phrase make you want to dance?), and start cutting the lawn.  The grass is six inches high in some places.  This definitely needed doing.  Shadows lengthen as I work my way down the side yard.  Oh, look, I didn't change my shoes.  Wearing heels for this isn't too bad, I suppose, since they're comfy.

In a Boston spring, you just pick a day when you have time and do yardwork, rain or shine, since it rains as often as it shines, and usually on weekends to boot.  Except mowing.  That would be sorta difficult... electricity, water, and clumpy, wet grass is a BAD combination.

As the front grasses go from tall to short, the sunlight fades... and just as it becomes dark enough to make a normal person reconsider doing anything work related, I finish.  Wind up the extension cord, put everything away.  There is some advantage to the weeks passing by so fast - now it doesn't get really dark until about 8:00.  Good news for me and my lawn.

Grass - zero.  Me - one. (Just don't look at the edges.)

The End.