Leaning back on the mower,
I ride the green billows
Down the hill and around
The pond. Blades clash and
Leopard frogs arc
To save their trailing legs.
The air fizzes with a dandelion
Blizzard. All that crunch
And crackle of fecund weed,
Foetid with aroma of bog,
Spurts confetti swarms
Of gnats, ticks, and ephemeridae
Like killer spores of an alien
Planet gassing the invader.
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