Endless Lawn XXXIII

It never stops growing, does it? It’s time to mow again. Hope your blade stays sharp, and your string is sturdy.

The Voice, The Flame, The Smoke, The Swamp

Have I ever told you about

the little swamp in my yard?

I’m sure I have.

I always repeat myself.

I always repeat myself

because my mind has a habit of running.

Sometimes, when I think of the lawn,

the little swamp runs through my mind.

Along with it run the stories

of the will o’ the wisp,

and stories of spirits moving

between worlds

through the fen.

I wonder if there’s peat

enough for whiskey.

And when I’m trudging through the mud,

tending the fence-line that bisects the little swamp,

I wonder if I’ll hear a voice

or see a flame

or taste the smoke.

Dave and I mowed that part of the yard once.

You wouldn’t believe the spiders.

Now I leave it to the will of nature

under the guise of a concern for biodiversity

(but really, it’s just challenging to manage).

Some saplings have sprouted.

Zach warned me that they may be tree of Heaven,

and that if I chop one down,

five more will grow back in its place,

like Heracles’ hydra.

So I let them grow.

I leave the portal open

for the ghosts.

Sometimes, I look out at night

half-hoping

to hear a voice

or see a flame

or taste the smoke.

T. Evans, August 2023