August Mowing



The lawn is tempurpedic,

My tennis shoes sinking into luxury

Of crackly, misshapen leaves,

Delicate green shoots, and

Green-velvety moss,

Like an exotic quilt

Crafted by God.

My line is steady

Though not straight,

The rusty blade cutting

As it is able,

While softer blades

Bend gracefully

To avoid the offending

Machine, and acorns

Shoot out like ricocheted shots

In the warm autumn light.


Blue yet cloud-filled skies

Embrace me, and

I accept God’s grace,

Undeserving as I am,

Unyielding as the acorn,

Yet striving to be grass,

With the plush moss

Of forgiveness.

The sun in my eyes

Both blesses and curses,

Embracing and empowering hope,

Yet blinding me at times to the path.


Up and down, back and forth,

I mow what may be the

Last of the grass, not of leaves,

The ground soon enough

Hardening, whitening, freezing.

In the autumn of my life,

I still remember the golden spring,

Perfume of lilacs and birds’ song,

Azure, carefree skies,

And nights of angels

Sparkling a message of love and possibility.


I’ve stumbled and fallen,

Losing my balance, my center,

Distracted by those possibilities,

Betrayed by lilacs and songs,

Yet I press on the strait,

Though crooked, path,

Soft earth clumps rising

To slow my movements,

Mulching my way

To Judgment Day.


The good and bad

Ground in the same

Inexorable blade,

Fertilizing the earth

So that new souls

May rise up and

Bend, or break,

Yield, or stand oak-like,

Some falling,

Others steadfast.

The rains will come again,

And the pristine snow,

Bitter cold

Decimating the land

While miniature souls

Await spring sun,

God’s message


“Rise up! Rise up!”

Never knowing when

The mulching begins,

Or ends,

Never knowing…

Yet trusting God’s soft

And pliable power.

©2015 Linda L Labin, PhD