Sunday, October 3, 2010

the sound of summer grass being mowed into autumn hay

The sound of two riding mowers mowing the same field of grass: criss-crossing in counter-clockwise spirals outward from the center of the field.

The sound of a single siren interrupting the sound of the mowing, echoing through the skyscrapers of Houston. Or else the sound of two sirens out of sync, heading from different locations to the same emergency.

The sound of a baby blue jay echoing the frightening siren with a call of alarm of its own.

The sound of one mower staying in place, holding a higher, more strained note in the background while the sound of the second mower approaching and receding echoes the stillness of the first. The mowers and the blue jays continue the conversation that the siren and the blue jays began.

The sound of the metro whizzing by.

The sound of a mower mowing newspaper.

The shine of morning-glory.

The scent of freshly mown grass.