Something Off - Nov 16 2024

 

Something Off

Nov 16 2024

The seasonal chores

despite the bother.

And it’s not the neighbours, tut-tutting

or things falling apart,

because that takes time.

And after all

even if I do let things slide

the world will go on

just as before.

Every other week

cutting the lawn

in nice neat rows

to the prescribed height.

And once in October

crisp autumn leaves

either blown who-knows-where

or raked and bagged,

leaving a well-manicured patch

of bare brown grass

walled-in by nature;

where thick stands of trees

and a dense tangle of bush

pinch relentlessly in

from every side.

As if this was it,

the last outpost of civilization

carved from the wilderness,

and for now, at least

holding it back.

Cleared

within minutes of the storm

the driveway is a black asphalt slash

cut into fresh white snow,

its pristine surface

steaming in the winter sun.

Shovelled out

with pleasing precision

in parallel lines

between 2 vertical walls.

In a world of disconcerting change

and relentless ferment,

and a universe

that tends toward entropy

and is beyond my comprehending,

I need a space of my own;

a small preserve of order

under my control.

Just so long as I put in the work,

don’t defer,

resist the urge

to do anything but.

Then stand back, hands on hips

and admire my handiwork.

Which never lasts, I know.

But in that moment of stillness

it’s as if time stops

and order is restored.

As if that nagging voice in my head

goes quiet,

and the sense of something

somehow off

is temporarily calmed.

The lawn, as every fall,

ready to be put to sleep

in its seasonal torpor

under a warm blanket of snow.