|Looks like an ordinary mower, right? But let's take a closer look.|
|Still doesn't look that special. And what's that white tag on the handle? There's a sad story, here, since the tag says, "return to customer. We can't fix it."|
|Maybe it's defunct, but it still merits attention. After all, it was good enough for the Queen.|
|Not every mower comes with its own royal seal, complete with a coat of arms and French slogan. Even if it can't cut any more, it deserves to be immortalized.|
The inevitability of endings has been leaving me bereft. But I am beginning to come to terms with them.
When approaching the end of our rope, we often hear
The end is in sight,
Buck up. You are close to the Finish Line.
After all the chromatic meanderings, think of the relief that accompanies a resolved chord.
And there can be some surprises. Today while mowing with the new mower and lamenting the passing of its predecessor, I looked up and saw in bloom for the first time in decades
my old French rose--
the one I bought from a now defunct company--a bush moved many times, now popped up in a new spot.
The tears roll down my cheek as I ask, how did it know that today was the day I needed to inhale its sweet perfume ?
Of brief season, it will soon be gone. But next year?
Of my superior old mower, stamped with "by appointment to HRH the Queen," I'm thinking that the right hands could resurrect it. The gears reground. The blades refreshed. I always felt so proud and regal, pushing it around my plot.
When you are the Queen, you can probably carry on longer. Impermanence reigns more easily further down the line.
Even so, there are limits.
The Buddhists have got it right:
Remove attachment. Everything is going to change