In the distant past, I'm told, these days
Of warmer weather would bring with
Them nature’s dulcet tones: the songs
And chatter of the birds, the whisper
Of the wind through trees, the croaking
Frogs and buzzing insects. Such sounds
Are no longer heard. The growing season's
Soundtrack is the clamor of the landscape
Crews. Their roaring mowers, whirring
Trimmers, blowers, overwhelm the sounds
Which used to soothe our harried minds.
Stepping outside once was how we freed
Ourselves from all the hellish mechanisms
In our lives. Now, no matter what we do,
They’re always at our sides.