Because I’m happy

I just hate this song. Please excuse me Pharrell Williams but it makes me want to go errrrrr.

Anyway, I was mowing the lawn. YES. Again. I know. Sigh.
It got yellow after adjusting the sprinklers last week, which is kind of sad. No one likes a yellow lawn, right?
The lawn was so dry that dusty clouds swirled around the mower as I pushed it along the usual route. It spooked me for a minute. I thought the mower is on fire. But then I realized it’s just dust. On that same moment, adrenalin still rushing through my veins, an amazing thing happened; the grass thanked me for cutting it.
Yeah. It sounds crazy, I know, but I could clearly sense its happiness.
No offence religious people and new-age believers, I respect your faith but I don’t share it.
I’m a Richard Dawkins fan. I believe in science. Hard cord science and nothing but.
However, I am willing to swear on everything dear to me that my grass was happy this morning while I mowed it. I can’t explain it. Maybe it’s because I am the one tending to the lawn, so I feel connected to it in some level.
It wasn’t a regular sensory feeling. I mean, the lawn looked the same. It smelled the same. There was the usual buzz of wasps coming to feast on grass bugs.
It was as if I had a sixth nameless sense. It was as if I grow invisible antennas that were tuned to the grass channel. I could feel it in my core; in my deepest cosmic being where all living things – and a grass is a living thing are energetically connected.
I’m an electronics engineer.  I know energy. I know how to measure it. I know how to calculate it. I know the scientific definition of it, and yet, I could feel the energy of the grass. And it was happy.
It’s not the first time that I feel the plants in my garden. Last year I could hear the mulberry tree talking to me. Actually, it was yelling. Help me. I’m suffocating. Save me.
I was half asleep when I heard its calling, and first thing I did when I woke up was weeding around its beak. It was a young tree, planted only several months previously. Unfortunately, weeding wasn’t sufficient. The mulberry tree died last summer. I am still grieving.

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