thinking it was a random act of kindness, I made plans to bake him cookies.
Later, I found out that our landlord charges us an additional $12.50 every time this neighbor mows our lawn.
I cancel plans to make him cookies.
Our landlord says that this neighbor is permitted to mow our lawn every time he deems it below par of the neighborhood.
A few days later, another neighbor gave us a weed eater; he said he had an extra. Sensing a growing discontent in the neighborhood regarding our lawn, and feeling a bit confused about what the neighborhood lawn expectations are, I set out to find the most perfect lawn in my neighborhood.
As I walk, I'm thinking about the lawn as a sort of transitory space between public and private, sometimes showing a sense of welcome, defensiveness, or indifference.
I begin to get bored with lawns, (they're all starting to look a little the same) and I start to wander.
I haven't seen anyone in a while; only remnants, little displaced ghosts.
On the way home, I think more about transitions, about things that aren't meant to stay static, or even stationary.
I think about how every moment seems to balance on a series of fragile transitory motions, and I'm not sure how comfortable I am with this revelation.