Wednesday, September 15, 2010

suburban lawns

about a week ago, my neighbor mowed our lawn.

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.

Feeling frustrated about my inability to find the perfect lawn, I decide to go home.

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.

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