great day to mow the yard

Yes, today was the today that I convinced myself that the heat wasn't quite as hot, and I could finally attack the yard. The grass isn't especially tall, for the most part, as a near absence of rain has kept the grass from getting too out of hand. However, my yard supports a number of different grasses, most of which grow differently from the others.

So up grows the random patches of tall stuff. In cooler months, this stuff doesn't get nearly as tall, but it grows very thick. It isn't a huge patch in amongst the rest of the smaller growing grasses, so my yard isn't a green wheat field just yet, but parts of it, those little patches, are outrageously tall compared to the other grass.

One neighbor is meticulous about his yard while the other runs it down as is needed. I, on the other hand, in the middle, procrastinate with ease, letting my already ragged yard grow uglier over the weeks till it even hurts my eyes. Then I rush out in whirl of sweat and cursing and drag the mower around on my one day in the sun.

Today was attack day. I noticed the dark cloud, but it seemed smallish and singular, more likely to provide a sweltering kind of shade than to pour out rain. I began as usual with the scooping of dog turds. I sent Big Brother to pick up the sticks blown off the tree last Friday when we got our most recent dousing of thunderstorm. I continued by sweeping up all the ashes and cigarette butts from the back porch.

It was about this time that the distant thunder first sounded, and I cocked my head to hear it better. Was it a passing airplane? or was that thunder? It was certainly thunder I judged. I knew then that this passing cloud couldn't entirely pass. I knew then that was not likely to get the mowing completed nor even begun.

The sad fact is that I could probably get the mowing done. I've seen plenty of these distant storms show every sign of raining here where we actually need it only to wander past, around and even directly over, preferring to give the mountains their rain. And while I'm certain the mountains need rain, they tend to get much more than we in the valley get.

The thunder rumbles ever closer, though a peek out the window indicates that the real rain is yet to come. Before we retreated inside we each felt raindrops, so we know it's real and it's there somewhere. But will it reach us? Or will I be out an hour from now sweating and cursing?