Freshly Mown Grass

​The drone of a lawnmower makes me think of summer. Long days playing in the sun. The oily smell of gasoline overlays the almost sharp, herbaceous scent of freshly cut grass. It smells green. My daughters would say freshly mown grass smells like itchy skin and swollen eyes. Do those smell?
When I was a kid, I used to follow my dad when he mowed the lawn. Back and forth, back and forth stepping carefully in the lanes of freshly mown grass, my keds turning green. In my head, I was a pioneer, walking along the path to my new home. The covered wagon trailed behind us. I was nearly always a pioneer in my imagination. I don’t know why I was so enamored with the idea of traveling in a covered wagon. I thought it was the height of romance. This from a kid who had never been camping.
When I wasn’t a pioneer, I was a school teacher. In a one room school house, complete with a fireplace and a chalkboard. Rows of wooden desks. A large playground in back. I don’t know why I thought that would be fun.
My friends and I played make-believe a lot. I played make-believe when I was by myself. A lot. With all the characters I played in my head, I was never lonely, even when there was no one around.