I just finished cutting the grass. Some people dislike this task, but I revel in it. I'll gladly walk our property for 90 minutes behind our push mower so that, once finished, I can stand with utter satisfaction, admiring the perfect lines and order left behind.
I've loved lawn-mowing for years, maybe decades at this point. I love mowing in the spring when the world is fresh and newly green. I love it in the heat of summer as I wipe my brow and soak in sunshine. But I've come to increasingly appreciate cutting the grass during the fall, knowing that September's hint of color will lead to October's riot of hues, and all will fade into November's earthy rusts and browns before settling into the sleepy cold winter when the lawnmower will finally rest.
But (thankfully) we're not there yet. Right now, we're immersed in such autumn beauty that I sometimes have to pause to take it in.
I wasn't in any particular mood before I cut the grass today. Nothing was inherently wrong. Nothing was especially right. It's just a random Thursday. But while I cut the grass, the day took a different shape. I passed the time as I paced the ground with quietness of heart, even as the engine droned. I prayed. I admired the blueness of the sky, the reds and oranges and yellows of leaves, the not-yet-dormant green of the lawn, the earthy aroma of grass clippings and a hint of gasoline. (Don't judge. No huffing, kids, but I love a good whiff of that gasoline smell.)
It wasn't instant, but my time cutting the grass today was a mood changer. It always is.
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