Spring in the Peak of Good Living

Warning: this post was a 1-syllable word challenge :-)

Spring in the Peak – my home in this state: the First in Flight, the boys of Wright.

Buds peek then blooms burst - on trees, shrubs and plants. At night bright blonde dust falls from tall pines. And by morn the earth is quick caked in a shroud of gold.

Birds sing sweet tunes as they perch on branch and wire - on watch for small strings or dabs of mud with which to build their nests, in which to lay eggs and birth their young.

Oh, but the thin blades of green! How fast they grow when soaked with rain! How quick they stretch to the sky when their thirst is quenched! And there – in that growth – lies the catch: how, when the steel blade that cuts the grass does not work, will the grass be cut?

Fret and fear! Those next door (where the grass is short and crisp) peer to my yard. They find a high web of twists and turns, knots and kinks. They frown. They speak. I don’t hear them, but I know. Their words short – terse: “What a mess! What an eye sore! Not on our sweet street!”

I sit and watch. I can see it grow inch by inch. My brain spins, “What will I do? Can I cut the grass with hand shears? Can I buy a goat or lamb my yard to graze? Or will it grow, grow, grow ‘til all I see is a house-high field of green?”

“Fear not,” says the voice on the phone, “when school lets out this spring day, I will come. I will mow your grass. I will sooth your stressed out soul.”