The noise arrives first, vibrating the sliding glass door in its track.
Then the chipped red metal and knobby, grass-covered wheels appear from behind a tree.
The lawnmower man is outside singing September In The Rain above his machine’s thunderings.
He has the gait of purpose and without a moment’s hesitation pushes deliberately around each mud encircled tree, clipping every last blade of grass along the dirty edges.
Atop his smooth dark head, a transparent yellow visor is worn backward and upside-down as if nothing could be less important.
It’s a mere nod to local fashion.
But, possibly, a badge of pride or honor.
With a glance, his gleaming eyes assert as much.
And then he is gone from sight, becoming nothing more than a lingering noise in the distance.