Mowing the Lawn

After just one week of warm, wetter weather, our lawn has turned from a parched brown frizz into a soggy green spread. Then , in one day of dry winds it miraculously dried. So I risked making the first cut of the year and tidied it up with the lawnmower. I am ridiculously fastidious about our lawn: I have turned into the type of petit-bourgois that I despised so much in my youth. But I don't mind. Instead of international capitalism, my enemy is moss. It encroaches upon the grass in the shadier damper areas of lawn, and is a source of frustration when it appears from nowhere. Even when it is scratched up moss remains a problem, as it hugs the surface so much without rooting, it leaves bare earth beneath the scratched areas, and it kills the grass roots.

The other enemy on the lawn, of course, is cat-crap. Maisie (the more disgusting of our two cats) is incapable of using soil or leaves as her toilet, and insists upon shitting in the midle of the lawn, leaving little stinking piles of brown eggs just where we don't want them. One day, I will take her to visit the great vet in the sky.

Anyway: summer is on the way. The lawn is mown. The sun is shining. The garden looks tidy, temporarily, and all is right with the world.