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I mowed the lawn today. I hate mowing the lawn. The grass clipper cuts down anything in its way. Indiscriminately. Not just the beautiful life-green blades of grass, nor just the feisty yellow dandelions propelled by some art specific gene for world dominance, and whose inherent nature seems to be to conquer all on a collective raid. Nor the odd strutting daisy either – those fair maidens who seem to be saying to the dandelions, “Don’t go overboard, dearies! We’re here, too!” No, I see little purple flowers, yellow flowers, blue flowers, white flowers, red flowers, lush soft moss – all brutally having their heads sliced off and being munched up by my greedy, insatiable Bosch monster. A voracious appetite has that thing! I keep apologising to all these little ones as I witness their beauty being gobbled up by my mean motored machine, my heart aching and me feeling like an accomplice to murder.

Feeling upset, I looked up these little purple, yellow and blue flowers in my garden reference book. All were listed as lawn weeds – every single one of them. Made no difference to me, I didn’t feel any better for it. Instead I kept thinking: don’t they see how exquisitely beautiful a weed can be?

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