There is nothing more beautiful to my eyes than the wild freedom of a forsythia waving in the wind.
So why, oh why, do some folks clip and torture them into ugly, perfectly symmetrical and static spheres?
What IS the drive to make absolutely everything fit into a proscribed neat little box?
I suspect it must be the small confines of a tidy, unimaginative mind.
And so, the yard monkey arrives, at an address that shall go unmentioned, with his industrial mowers, gas powered weed wackers (he even weed wacks the woods, if you can believe that!) and Round Up herbicide, every Wednesday morning, with the regularity of a clock.
Old Billy's yard monkey arrives with machines
To torture and shred every thing that grows green
Wild is verboten, no shrub may grow free
Old Billy's obsession is clipped symmetry
The monkey's big mower devours grass and leaves
He uproots and poisons those dastardly weeds
This yard's near as tidy as Billy's small mind
But lucky for monkey, it's not fossilized
The weeds will come back as wind scatters seeds
And grass will be high again by next week
Our yard, on the other hand, couldn't get much more chaotic and free. Not exactly a model to follow either.
I shall aspire to the golden mean....gotta get on my own weeds. But I think I'll wait until the weather cools off.
Be Well and Good Luck,
copyright Martha Maria, 2012