Personally, I adore the noise of lawn mowers and such. They’re the soundtrack to summer, a reminder the outdoors is habitable again. Grass is growing, flowers are blooming, birds are on the wing, and all is right with the world. I could listen to the clatter and drone all day, it’s sweet music to my little pink ears. And the heady scent of new-mown grass is, oh my, far beyond my puny ability to describe. It needs a poet.
Snowblowers, on the other hand, are a different story. They’re unpleasant on every level. Snowplows, too, with blades bumping and scraping along pavement caked in ugly, frozen glop — criminy, such a racket. You see, I’ve no wish to be reminded winter exists anywhere in the world, let alone that it exists right outside my door. Snow removal equipment is an unwelcome reality, a recurring nightmare.
Well, forget winter. It’s spring. The grass is green, the sky is blue, and trees are in full leaf. I stood and soaked up the all too fleeting loveliness for a long, gentle moment, doing the math in my head:
Sunshine + birdsong = bliss.
Just then a mower backfired and I hit the dirt. In this neighborhood, you expect return fire or the coroner’s van. One or the other. But either way, it’s still spring.