The Smell of Grass

The smell of grass

The smell of grass freshly mowed in softly falling rain is sweet and fresh

a scent that makes cows and sheep salivate and flick their tails like helicopters,

makes me wish for a moment that I too had a four chambered stomach to match my

four chambered heart and my four speaker sound system;

that I could join the opera of crunch, chew, dribble and swallow.

The smell of grass freshly mowed in softly falling rain mixes with the smell of

gas and oil from the mower joins the smoke from a damp cigarette burning, trailing tendrils rising beside his nose while

hanging from the corner of the gardener’s lower lip as he stops for a minute or two to survey his efforts and it smells

very different from wet grass that’s been mowed and sits

clumped

linearly arrayed in hillocks of uneven heights

drying in the sun

steamy, decaying organic matter, smelly

attracting flies

repelling me the cows and sheep, raked and gathered

destined for another pile and tossed into an unseen corner of the yard

where secretive boys once had their lair when they played Batman or

their bower

when, as swains, they managed to cajole a damsel to join them for a visit

to a secreted place

and some private time

a previously stashed blanket covering evidence of their whereabouts

until, spent

seeds scattered, they emerged unstained, rejoined the party and were not damp like the others

who stood like sheep smelling the wind.