Below The Fold

The Lawn guy mowed over the peonies last weekend. He didn’t get them all, but two of the five stalks were hacked.
I’m optimistic about their recovery, so I went out and bought a little garden fence to put around them. I can’t blame the guy too much, as I didn’t tell him ahead of time… I just assumed he’d see them for the beautiful new growth that they are and would know better. My front lawn isn’t as green as I’d like. It’s coming back far slower than my neighbor.. My next-door neighbor’s grass is the purest, deepest emerald you’ve ever seen. The individual blades sing softly in the dusk hours and Blue Jays and deer alight on his lawn in the morning just to pose. When the morning sunlight glints off the dew, angels are born in the refractions.
My lawn looks like Clark Griswold by comparison.
I can’t be too angry. This is new territory for me. My next door neighbor is a Native American, and it’s evident his yard simply likes him better. I’ve been thinking about inviting him over to trade culture secrets: He’ll help me to grow things and I’ll teach him how to haggle… or deal with guilt…