Summer Ritual

A short poem

Summer Ritual

Will anyone notice the fresh-cut
lawn and its neat edges cropped
close to trees and rocks;
with careful attention provided
to keep clippings out of the
mulched flower beds?

Will anyone notice the pattern
of up-and-down green tartan
I created with neat curves around unmowed
wild places where rocks and water
mingle in miniature marshes dividing
pasture from yard?

I daydream that pilots
look down with admiration
on my preconceived patterns
like gods studying Nazca lines
and reward me with a simple
wave of their wings.

After endless hours spent inhaling
Briggs and Stratton exhaust and
Dandelion seeds floating in the wind,
with shins covered in green matter
thrown from the whisking string of a weed-eater,
I look upon my canvas and await the next

Wednesday morning after an evening rain,
when it will be time to shape the
landscape once again.