It was a peaceful Sunday morning and I was at my Garden Church of the Holy Ghost. Where the flowers are still in the ground and you’re allowed to bring your coffee outside to the bench/pew. And I can wear my pajamas even though I have townhome neighbors now who can look down and see me. (I was here first by three decades.) I’m working on becoming that wacky eccentric neighbor. Tolerated.
Then disturbance of the peace. My neighbor across the street edges his own small postage stamp lawn. Since it’s mostly concrete with small grass patches, it has lots of edges. He has an antique edger – with a blade. He’s terrible at it. I could edge faster with kindergarten scissors.
So the background hymn to my slice of Sunday morning paradise is gasoline powered metal blade scraping concrete. Starting and stopping. Again and again. Wearing a small groove in my brain. I pray for him.
He’s going to get a new edger in his Easter basket.