The Irony of Grass  4/30/14

The yards in Chatham start greening up the minute the air warms and the sun shines longer each day.  The air is filled with the sound of mowers and blowers and trimmers and spreaders. The flowers bloom with no provocation, and; the trees bud with wild abandon.  

One yard stands out along the block.  A yard that in the past was a haven for broken mowers:  riding, pushing, weeding and blowing.  A yard mowed well by the premiere lawn mower repair person in all of Pittsylvania County, I hear tell.  
When my mower failed us, someone said, "Take it to Junior, he'll fix you up right."  We did.  We all did.  He was a whiz in size 8 shoes.  

And, now, his yard mourns his loss.  His faithful grass keeps coming up even though he's not there to mow it.  Loyal customers ride by the empty shed where he worked his majic, no mowers in waiting, the yard is clear for the grass to grow.  
It's growing and going unmowed, the only yard on the block that is unkempt, uncared for and unmowed.   I see it there alone and abandoned and I feel the irony of it's existence, the sting of loss, the pity for the ones Junior left behind and I wonder about grass.  Does it even care?  No, it's just there because that's where it is.  

It isn't a House and Garden yard, it's just another yard in Pittsylvania County.