Oh! The instant gratification of the first yard raking of the season!
Like matted knots in a young girl’s dirty hair, flattened wet leaves cling to the ground, unwilling to be pulled free by the insistent “c’mon, now” of the rhythmic plastic teeth. Little by little, however, they concede defeat, release their grip and roll with the rest into a heaping pile.
Little wisps of green grass appear with each pass of the rake.
They breathe in, and then out, a “thank you.”
When the job is done, like the freshly combed mane of a now clean child, the yard is a pleasure to gaze upon. We accept that the new order will not last long, however, and take what small joy we may in the day’s grooming.