Green. Where once was either black or white now presents as a sea of green. Light, dark, short, tall, the only things that aren’t green appear to be man-mad: white house, red brick chimney, yellow plastic cart, grey shed. I am sitting in a freshly mown swathe cut through grass as tall as my waist. A reverse Mohawk following our sledding route from but a few months past. The swathe would be broader had I not lost the nut that held our newly serviced mower’s handle in place. It’s hard to push a mower with a bung handle through waist high grass, thick as an unkempt forest
And yes, I should have tackled it earlier, I’m well aware of that. And the mower hadn’t received a service for at least five years and its wheels were wobbly and I simply had no idea how fast things grow around here. And these all look like excuses and you’re probably right.
I could come up with more if you want, just as I could for the perpetual mess inside. But I won’t – not for the moment – instead I’ll accept your supposition: J is lazy; he’s in way above his head; he doesn’t care; he needs to get his act together; his life is a mess; he can’t look after himself. And I think I can see where you’re coming from. Thank you for your feedback, I really appreciate it, and I promise to look into it.