Long stems lie in the grass as dead soldiers in battle. Tiny moths flutter gamely away from my roaring machine of whirling death while toads scramble madly in too tall grass.
Too tall for whom? And why?
The clover huddles low, sweet clumps of flowers shorn away and when the bees come they will go hungry. Smiling daisies are slaughtered before they can bring their light to the world and unacceptable weeds are ripped from the earth.
Bright paintbrushes that dot the forest floor are safe from me behind a wall of slender birches but the closer I get the more I am warned away by slender sisters with probing mouths. They will take my blood as I take theirs.
It is right, if not completely fair for I am far larger than they. Still, I am driven off by their persistence and am secretly grateful. Later, after rain and sun and moon, I will return. And so will they.
via Fat and Not Afraid http://ift.tt/2sQTxxF
