The Gardener(s) – Prose

A day doesn’t go by where I don’t hear the sound of a lawnmower or leafblower somewhere on my street. Even after shutting my windows, that loud, threatening buzz is hard to ignore. It seems to penetrate the glass.

You’d think it would be easy to get used to, considering how often it’s there. But I never fail to notice it, pulling me out of my work for at least a few minutes. This might sound like a complaint, but it’s really just an observation.

My mother told me all our neighbors have the same gardener. He works on most of the street, getting everything done in a day. Usually Fridays but not always, she says.

But what about the other six days of the week? I know she’s right- I see our gardener every Friday. He works on at least seven of the houses on our street, is there for hours working hard, and leaves a little after lunchtime. But the buzz of his (and every other gardener’s) tools can be found every single day.

For me, there are many sounds that you expect to hear at some point in your day. The low, threatening hum of a lawnmower has become one of them.

I hope you enjoyed this random rambling! It might be a weird thing to talk about, but it’s something that’s been on my mind a lot since spending so much time at home in quarantine. Please let me know if you have any feedback on this piece or any writing challenges you’d like me to try out in the future. Stay safe and healthy.

Brooke

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