Tonight, we mowed the yard for the first time this year.  I love the neat, orderly look of a freshly trimmed lawn.  I love the smell of grass.  I love the physical exertion required to push the mower, in sometimes playful, elaborate patterns, across the length or the width or the diagonal of our property’s dimensions.  (I opted to mow the length of the back yard this first time out.  A quick glance out the window, just now, tells me that Bill chose to do the same for the front.)

My contribution to finishing this task took just under thirty minutes.  Not quite enough to satisfy my self-imposed daily exercise requirements.  Perhaps I’ll have to tackle the whole thing next time around.  I will, however, let Bill do the more demanding chore of mowing along the fence line (his preference, anyway) so that I don’t chew up the wheels on our new mower – like I did sometimes with the last one – by getting too close to the screws along the bottom plate of our wrought iron fence.

For now, though, I’m pleased with the results and the energy expended to get the job done.  There will be plenty more opportunities in the weeks and months ahead to repeat what’s essentially, for me, a most enjoyable task.