A Sweet Task

As I hear the businesslike mechanical
whir of a precision instrument, I
note the ease with which it handles
as I exert little effort pushing it
gaining the satisfaction of seeing its
rotating blades effortlessly cutting 
the grass of my front lawn, the rotary
mower more than adequate to the task
I have set myself and for its performance.
Sound and smell are said to be powerful
memory boosters and that sound brings
to mind my short, stout eastern European
father exerting great effort on the rare
occasion he deigned to mow the spitting
distance area of miserable grass on
the lawn he called his own. Now, so
many years later his daughter expends
little effort in doing likewise though
over fifty years have passed since his
death at age ... who knows? Homeless
orphans are not known to carry legal
documentation attesting to their date
of birth and from his early teens forward
he could only guess his age. But he
knew what he liked to do, play the tuba
in a small orchestra, hold forth on 
matters philosophical despite his lack
of formal education, roll his own before
dying of cancer of the throat and investing
in penny stock. As for me, he left me a
legacy as a bibliophile, and a willingness
to work hard as its own reward, and 
cutting grass is, for me, a sweet task.