One of my favourite things about cycling is how it clears the head. A cycle ride isn’t always a journey through space, but also of time. Today the prevailing scent in town has been of cut grass; the prevailing sound of lawnmowers. No dandelion is safe from their toothy rotaries. Cycling through Corning in the warm air of the gloaming (the heat of the day is later here) I came across other scents – a flowering hedge I recall from my childhood in Melbourne, air heavy with laundry soap – that seem to announce the onset of spring proper. Everything is a lot greener now than it was in December, though many trees aren’t fully convinced and are yet to declare their foliage.
I often wonder why grass is so prevalent in cities. When did we decide it was preferable to permaculture? There’s something very urban about freshly mown lawn – a lazy and convincing way to show nature who’s boss. Grass cuttings remind me of primary school, after the oval was mown. We’d build grassy fortresses that the wind turned to sprindrift, and would all go home itchy.