I learned this week that the grass on my lawn will go to seed when not even to my knee. Which turn it all silvery even when the rain isn't droplets of pearls. . . . Yesterday, the first sunny day in a while, I came home to find it cut. With brown splotches where the mud hadn't dried enough, but really, what were they to do? No doubt the service has a lot of places to cut. Indeed, between going to work and lunch today, a fair amount of highway-side grass got cut.
Not all of it. Some of it still is standing, gone to seed, with flocks of daisies growing in it. One place had pink flowers, as tall as the grass, with small flowers -- I could not put a name to it.
And in a roadside depression where once they would pasture a cow, when I was a child, yellow irises were blooming along in the wetness. I wonder whether they were wild or escapes.
