Summer Mowing
He has transformed
his Tonka dump truck
into a push mower, using
lumber scraps and duct tape
to construct a handle
on the front end of the dump box.
One brave screw
holds the makeshift
contraption together.
All summer they outline
the edges of these acres,
first Daddy, and then,
behind him
this small echo, each
dodging the same stumps,
pausing to slap a mosquito,
or rest in the shade,
before once again pacing
out into the light,
where first one,
and then the other,
leans forward to guide the mowers
along the bright edges
of this familiar world.Here's today's roundup.
10 comments:
This poem captures such a wonderful, tender moment with father and son. Thank you for sharing it.
How sweet this poem is. Thank you, Ruth. And I love your view of mowing today. Do it. xo
along the bright edges
of this familiar world.
We must always remember those bright edges are there for the seeing! Happy mowing!
What a wonderful image of this father and son. Or Father and daughter. A good choice, your poem and your mowing.
Wonderful poem. I have a photo of my hubby mowing, and my son with his play mower passing him. So adorable to remember than image.
A loving poem, and design for life, Ruth. I do love all of it, but "this small echo" is so poignant. Have a happy time with family.
"...first Daddy and then
this small echo..."
That image grabs my heart.
So lovely - appreciations for
this poem.
It feels as though we are all brave screws holding makeshift contraptions together...
Sweet poem, Ruth!
Such a powerful image of this little guy being shaped by his time with his dad.
Enjoy your family-oriented summer!
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