Sunday afternoon

The most soporific two words in the English language are "Sunday Afternoon."  DH and I are loungingin the unaccustomed srping warth on our back patio.  He's reading the paper.  I'm lollygagging my way through blogs, and trying to identify various lawnmowers by their song.  To the north of us is the manly, full-throated throb of a Briggs and Stratton.  Across the street, the modest hum of an elderly Sears electric.  From the next block, two John Deere's are competing for the interest of a weed whacker and ... what's that?  Can it be?  I never thought I'd hear that again but I guess that, like the bald eagle and the timber wolf, they are making a comeback from extinction.  There's the alluring "whick, whick whick.  Whickwhickwhick whick, whick." of a reel mower!  One of our tree-hugging liberal neighbors is actually putting his beliefs into action.  I feel like taking him lemonade and cookies! 

We, on the other hand, use a gas-guzzling, air pollutiong Honda.  But we make up for it by not using it too very damn often.  With the spring we've had, you pretty much had to put the lawn mower on floats.  Run it over the low spot in the yard and the engine floods out.  Not that I'm complaining.  Rain is nothing compared to tornadoes, snow storms or brush fires.  And this morning I rejoiced in one of the delights of living north of the 45th parallel.  The sunrise wanders around all year long, and today I saw that it's shifted well to the north!  In the winter, it rises south of Mt Scott. (a local alluvial mound.)  Summer, it shifts clear north of it.  For some reason, the fact that sunrise brackets the hll over the course of the year just pleases me no end.