"The dreamy heads of the grass in early summer.
In midsummer:thick and heavy.
Sparrows swing on them, they bend down.
When the sparrow sings, its whole body trembles.
Later, the pollen shakes free.
Races this way and that way,
like mist full of life which it is.
We stand at the edge of the field, sneezing.
We praise God, or nature, according to our determinations.
Then the grass curls or breaks, or we cut it.
What does it matter?
Do you think the grass is growing so wild and thick for its own life?
Do you think the cutting is the ending, and not, also, a beginning?
This is the world."
        ~Mary Oliver

I am sitting in the middle of an orchestra. Lawn mowers are moving all up and down our street. One has a deep bass tone, a steady sound of bow on string. Another sounds flighty, high pitched like a coloratura soprano. Stopping and starting, the humans who push them, throw stray sticks and stones out of the path, interrupting the music. It is truly…almost…summer. All the rain we have had over the last days has caused grass to grow at an alarming pace. For those who make their living grooming the lawns of homeowners and businesses, it is a mother lode week. For teenagers forced to mow or those who hate the tedious back and forth of the act of mowing, it is not such a welcome sight.

The sound of the mower and the smell of freshly cut grass is something I treasure. My father was a person who loved to mow lawns. He mowed our yard and the neighbor’s. When I was small he had a regular push mower but at some point he acquired a riding lawn mower, yellow and green. When he was finished with our lawn he would move on down the street to the front lawn of the city swimming pool and mow that. While it was certainly work that needed to be done, I think it was also contemplative time for him, though he certainly would never have described it that way. He was a quiet man, a thoughtful man, and I think the act of mowing provided a meditative motion that appealed with his spirit. Back and forth, back and forth, until the grooming, or the thinking, was finished

The movements of summer are opening up all around us now. Children are staying out later each evening. I have heard them laughing and playing until after dark now that school is over. This afternoon I saw a group of boys, perhaps 11-12 years old, walking barefoot down the street, towels thrown over their shoulders, sunburned skin visible on their shoulders and faces. Bikes lay here and there, Koolaid stands are popping up on street corners.

The rhythm of summer is upon us. Though it doesn’t officially arrive until next week at the Summer Solstice, signs are everywhere. It is a season to savor…smelling the greenness of grass, the sweetness of skin touched by the Sun, the warmth of sidewalk on bare feet, the laughter of children’s voices, the music of bird song.

This is summer. This is the world. Thanks be to God!