May and June in Washington used to be, if not glorious weather-wise (San Diego, I miss you), at least sunny, sometimes breezy, and only moderately hot and oppressive. But in the past two years, it's meant skies that constantly threaten rain, angry and intermittent afternoon thunderstorms, a scorching sun, and humidity out the wazoo. The air is so humid it's almost palpable. It takes more energy than usual to draw breath, as if you're trying to breathe through a handful of wet cotton balls.
All of this tropical weather has meant the grass in our backyard has grown calf-high. Time to mow it. We almost bought one of those cute retro push-lawn mowers, but our lawn is so small - about 7 feet by 9 feet - it almost doesn't warrant it. So instead we bought a gigantic set of shears. I use it to "cut our lawn's hair."
My SO has photos of me doing it, looking all serious and green-thumbish. Afterwards, I sit on the deck, nurse a Diet Coke, and survey my handiwork. What does it look like? Usually as if my lawn went to the horticultural equivalent of the Hair Cuttery or one of those other cheap strip-mallish places where they shear you like a sheep, then kick you out the door.
But I find it satisfying nonetheless.
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