Recapitulation
Sunday afternoon was dedicated to mowing the grass for the last time in the growing season of 2019. The cold of winter is at hand and I cannot count on Indian Summer, a warm day or two remaining in the month of November. I pushed the mower and mulched the fallen leaves. What remains to be 
done in the yard must be done with dispatch. With the advent of global warming weather is noticeably more extreme. I wish that I were mistaken about this. Science and local observation point to an ominous fact, the atmosphere is growing warmer, atmospheric movement and weather patterns are growing more abrupt, more violent.
I walked behind the mower and reflected upon this late stage in my adult life. I have managed to continue, to extend a life-long program of my parent’s lives, an enduring passion which they pursued throughout my growing-up years. I looked at the expansive lawn soon to be 
white with frost, and the raised planting beds. Dad and Mom loved to cultivate a yard of growing plants. Their flower beds featured rows of rose bushes, and the vegetable garden of summer was celebrated in the house for the abundant produce. They didn’t mind the physical labor, for does not one work in order to live? That’s the deal, the arrangement between humans and Nature. We shape our environment, cultivate the soil, apply our knowledge of the seasons, knowledge of sun and rain and timeliness of care — to the end that our lives are fulfilled with abundant benefits.
So here I am, many years after the passing of my dad and mom, placing the mulched leaves to cover to surface of the raised planting beds. Soil should not be left exposed over the severe months of deep cold.
Mom and Dad would approve. The hand off is complete.
