Mowing, Unperturbed

There is no doubt that it is Spring, as the grass grows like wildfire, challenging our trio of lawn mowers to keep it at bay.  On over eight acres in the woods, in the cool temperatures and brief spat of Pacific Northwest sunshine that blesses this week in April, I mow, unperturbed. 



For moments at a time, everything is normal. The grass grows. The grass gets mowed.  I push the mower along any number of inclines, having some success at stemming the chaos of green that flourishes around me.   As the mowing marathon continues, I suffer shortness of breath, but am convinced that it is only MowVID-20 rather than COVID-19 which ails my lungs.

In the peace that is found in doing what little is still normal, images flash before me.  Plain wooden coffins lowered into mass graves at Potter's field near New York City.   An overworked friend isolated in an apartment in Seattle. A friend in Texas, losing business as the lockdown marches on.   A class session held on Zoom with all the awkwardness that goes with the new normal.  A dear friend in Florida who was designed to be out and about serving in any number of ways, rather than sitting at home.  Hospital beds.  Ventilators. Health care workers.   Empty buses and ferries. 

And, then, the mower groans over a particularly dense and long patch of grass.  My attention is jolted away from the images of this pandemic.

And, I return to mowing, unperturbed.