Saturday, March 15, 2014

March 14. Day 73. Keep off the grass

Henry Miller once said: "The moment one gives close attention to any thing, even a blade of grass it becomes a mysterious, awesome, indescribably magnificent world in itself." Sorry Henry. As deeply poetic as that might be when I read it I find myself thinking that perhaps you have spent more time smoking grass than actually looking at it. Now I admit this bit of native grass, or weed or reed or whatever I photographed on the riverbank at West End this afternoon is not unattractive. But I am not struck down in awe looking at it and I am certainly not struck down in awe looking at the increasingly feral state of what was once my back lawn. Two months ago the mowing man came, ran the mower over the grass and promised to come back on Monday to finish the job. I'm still waiting. I've since seen him at the supermarket and we've exchanged texts and the answer is always the same. "I'll be there tomorrow." Now any sensible person would at this point be saying "find another gardener". Problem is attempts to find a reliable person to cut my lawn has proven insanely difficult even though the lawn is about the size of a postage stamp and you could probably cut it with scissors in 10 minutes. So I persist pretending to myself that tomorrow will eventually come. Perhaps Henry Miller isn't the only one who should keep off the grass

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