Nobody sees him shave his trails.
But in the evening they are there
Turning our park woodland
into a gallery of buzz cuts.
Opening up our possibilities.
Giving us choices we never knew we had.
A high taper with scalp exposure in front of the big Ash.
To the left, a clean shaven trail that cuts through fields of daisies:
He loves me /he loves me not:
Torn florets strewn over our shoulders.
An accessory daisy chain, our teeth cutting through bitter stalks
tasting of sap so vile not even the wild will touch it.
Or to the right, razed trails that weave and curve
through common vetch, its clinging tendrils wrapped
around its neighbour.
A mane with shaved sides circles the Beech, enticing us past
stinging nettles that skirt a hedge of bramble, not yet ripe.
The ribwort plantain, its ovary capsules spill seeds at our feet.
Or a butch cut that slices through clumps of dandelion.
Their jagged teeth, dents-de-lion, in various stages of growth.
Some bright yellow heads threatening closure
with the scent of rain
and gossamer balls of seeds
shedding themselves in our wake.
A stroke of his blade
And a stubble path is shorn
through tall grass sporting hogweed five feet tall.
A V junction creates a crown of creeping
Draws the eye
to a newly planted Oak.
He’ll be back tomorrow
Or the day after
Or the day after that;
Restyling and regrooming our park
The man on the grass mower tractor
Copyright with Cathy Leonard 2017