It stopped him in his tracks.
Stunned, he stared at it as if he had never seen one before. Its glowing beauty.
But of course he had seen one before. He had seen many. Maybe millions.
Then why this one?
The mower handle vibrated impatiently in his hands. Let’s go, he felt it saying to him. He hesitated, unsure. Push and mow on, it seemed to demand.
How could he have never realized it before? How could it have eluded him all this time?
The mower persisted in its vibration. My job is to mow that deceptive bastard down and yours is to push. Do your job so I can do mine.
But he wasn’t listening.
He released the handle and the noise ceased abruptly. Except for the ticking hot engine, quiet consumed the yard. Callous hands tingled.
He stepped away from the mower and stepped into the unkempt grass. Kneeling before it, he leaned in close and examined it. It’s color. It’s texture. The shadow play of its vibrant-colored florets. The pale green strength of its stem. Looking even closer, the pollen-rich golden stamens.
Childhood memories. Wispy seeds floating on the wind.
The promise of what was to come.
Boot braced on the back of the mower, he pulled hard on the cord. The still hot engine roared back to life, seemingly more determined than ever to do its job. Ready to resume his, he took a firm grab on the handle, pushed, and mowed on.