Grassy

The slaughtered weeds scented the afternoon air, lingering long after the odor of the mower's gasoline fumes had faded. There are still patches of foxtails in spots the mower couldn't reach, and those will have to be pulled by hand. But the greatest part of them are gone now— for now. If we get more rain they might grow new heads, but if the weather remains dry that will keep them from growing large enough to spew seeds. As much as I'd like more rain I hope there is none. I don't want to have another mowing. It did smell nice, though.

Oh, I got my utility bill. Despite having kept the furnace set at 68 degrees or lower all month, I've still used over sixty dollars worth of gas. This leaky house will impoverish me, unless I'm willing to freeze. Maybe I should dry the slaughtered weeds and save them to burn in the fireplace next winter.