Mowing the Lawn

April 6, 2010

The man walked out of his house early that morning, lookin’ at the red sky thinking to himself, “I outta mow that damn lawn, that grass never seems to stop growing with all this rain!”

After a cigarette, a coffee, a few articles read out of the local newspaper, he puts on his denim shorts and his fishing hat, and moseyed on into the garage to find his grass chopper.

A’soon as the mower started mowin’,  the rain started spittin’. Always seemed to have happened like that for the man. A’soon as something he was doin’ something good, something bad just hadta happen. To lift the man’s spirits he started hummin’ a tune, a tune somewhat along the sounds of ‘doo, doo doo, doo doo doo, doo, doo, doo..’ and the pitter patter of the rain was almost to be the metronome of his tune.

The man started feelin’ groovy, and decided he loved the smell of mowing the lawn in the rain. That fresh cut grass was a pleasure on it’s own, but rain drops and fresh grass together was just magnificent.


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