Undoubtedly, one of the most-loved activities in the countryside is mowing the grass. After a few weeks, we find that it’s a bit too tall and lumpy for optimal croquet. Despite his…dislike for the game, he never fails to use it as an excuse to convince his father. Mow the lawn, and it will be easier to play.
He proudly calls himself a “flower terrorist,” something that simultaneously makes me burst out laughing and reprimand him for being so cruel. The only response I get is a savage, 11-year-old grin. Sheared short, the lawn is now reduced to stubble, save for the flowers that managed to escape the whirling, happy blades.
It’s only been a few days since the last cut, but already the dandelions and daisies are making their reappearance. Some may consider them weeds, but they are cheerful.
I love that no matter how many times he mows them down (literally) and laughs, they just keep popping up — and some new purple flowers have joined the crew. There’s so much in life that can figuratively (and sometimes, literally), run us over with the sole intent of wiping out our existence and our hope.
The daisies, though, despite being subjected to regular trimmings that completely decimate them, continue to come back after a few days.
Francophile; lover of ice cream, ballet flats, and skirts with pockets. Photographing light, life, and JOY in Paris with Cecil, my Rolleicord.