Apparently rain is to be moving back into our currently intensely idyllic surroundings soon, a forecast not to be underestimated for the strain it puts on my normal daily to-do list but when it’s Mowing Monday and probably one of the last dry days ahead, my temper starts working overtime, which is no fun for anybody.
There’s little in life I detest more than the undertaking of mowing our lawns and I only regularly engage in it because I love the clean and fresh outcome, the neatness of having some of these messy corners cut to showcase someone cared enough to not let it all go wild without a plan, or at least present myself with the suggestion of a personal paradise in the making.
The ironic connectedness of good and bad of this act of killing is even represented in the scent it produces, which we sort of instinctively associate with lovely, fresh and enticing, a smell exactly like the color green, but is actually provoked by these plants literally screaming murder by releasing an airborne mix of carbon-based compounds.
Ever since I read about this tragic but fascinating biological process, which also entails a communicational aspect of warning its neighbors of the danger ahead, I can only refer to this fragrance as ‘panic pee’ and feel a sense of shame for the positive proclivity of liking it.
Our own neighbors are unfortunately not afflicted with a similar meticulous divulgence technique, on the contrary as we all know by now, and they seek redemption in the even more fatal procedure of covering it all up in solid concrete, obviously to facilitate easier acces to their newly build garage. Seeing one of their workers this morning power hosing their construction waste over our just replanted veggie garden, made me furiously yearn for some productive panic pee of my own, but I managed to restrain myself with a firm “Non, arret !”
This life-size difference in convergence and divergence has proven to be unbridgeable and kept us busy, trying to avoid the grayness that already penetrated their property from entering the capillaries of ours. To our encouragement proud pink will prevail: even Les Pierres tiniest thinnesses of Thyme flowers color coordinately.
