Cut Grass (Sense of the City)

The smell of cut grass hung in the air as I walked down the street the other day. That smell means summer to me. All through winter the grass lays dying in the snow only to sprout up in the spring. The snow melts and bright green sprouts poke out of the whiteness. Grass grows through the spring, but I still associate that fresh smell with summer, which is coming--quick.

Chicago lawns are a lot different from what I remember back home. The lawns surrounding the farm are vast fields of manicured grass, kept at such lengths by tractor-size lawnmowers. The size and quality of the lawns can only be rivaled by Wriggly Field. But in Chicago, we do not have such riches in space, but lawn owners still keep up the quality. Tiny two by ten foot squares in front of each house are decorated with flowers and statues. The grass is lovingly shaped with an exactness that can only be achieved with a level and scissors.

I guess summer can no longer mean a break for me. No longer will I have several months to rest from the riggers of class and papers. After this summer I will have to join the real world, but I have another summer to recklessly travel. Graduation is over. All my papers are turned in; all my classes are over. My school career ended with a fizzle, not a bang. Graduation was not the end; I still had a paper due. But all that is finished now. Now all I have to worry about it sailing across the ocean. I'll be first matting a boat to Spain for the next month or how ever long it takes.

As far as we have come technologically we still don't have Internet everywhere. My only connection to the outside world will be an expensive satellite phone that needs to be used sparingly. I guess no Facebook or Twitter for me.

I'm not used to this. Big trips are new to me. I feel like I'm betraying my class a bit. But the world is out there to be explored and new experiences wait. For now I'll have to enjoy the smell of cut grass, because I doubt I'll run into any out there.