Now that winter is over, all sorts of green things are shooting up in my yard.
The lawn, which I once assumed was full of grass is actually a miniature jungle. Different leafy characters are appearing every day.
Some I recognize, like clover and dandelions, and some are mysterious. Many are very small, tucked under larger leaves, quiet invaders lurking out of sight
One thing they all share is an urge to grow.
We have a weekly lawn service. On Wednesdays, a rumble can be heard in the neighborhood, getting closer and louder as the afternoon approaches. Around 1pm the truck arrives on my street, carrying a huge red monster engine of destruction.
A young man with headphones drives it down from the trailer, wheels it across the street and begins tearing through my yard. I cringe inside my house as a horrid buzzing, ripping growl, like a herd of furious, mechanical buffalo beats against the windows.
The peace of the day is shattered. When it’s over, all growth has been thoroughly subdued. In minutes, the tall waving fronds are reduced to short green stubble.
Shock and awe.
It’s a regularly scheduled natural disaster. Yet very soon, the jungle begins to recover. The green onions raise their spears, the dandelions unfurl their yellow banners, and even the grass starts to grow again.
As I live through this drama, week after week, I am becoming aware of some immense force beneath the ground. An endless creativity that produces green life. Over and over again, as waves of destruction are followed by even greater waves of fabulous and spectacular growth.
Like a fearless political dissident, the lawn re-emerges to climb towards the sun.