The front lawn had grown beyond recognition. It needed whipper snipper action before a conventional mower could have any effect. Even the path between the lawn and the house had lanky dandelions and grass roots emerging from the soft soil. Time was sparse and the Machinist moved swiftly, swinging his arms from left to right with skill, ravaging the rogue greenery - now bulbous and (almost) bursting with new life. Prolific seeds, waiting anxiously for their marching orders.
Suddenly, a pebble, lifted by the green chord shot up and hit the tall window. A crack, then another. Within seconds, the whole pane fragmented, but held in place.
That night, I heard crackling sounds. They woke me. By morning time, the Machinist had had enough of my ramblings about how the glass in the sliding door might "...suddenly burst and like shrapnel, disperse through our unsuspecting bodies...". He marched outside with bucket and broom, and 'relieved' the heaving pane. Not having enough time to clear up thousands of pieces of glass, the remains lay just outside our bedroom door.... waiting to be swept up 'later on'.
It's quite a few weeks later and the window has not been fixed. Instead, a huge piece of laminated cardboard protects us from the 'elements' (loud birdsong, loud cat crying and loud possum scrapping). On cooler nights, the wind almost whistles as the board flaps.
"Would you check that it's still in place? It sounds as if it's loose..."
The Machinist lifts the curtains to check his handiwork.
"It's fine. I'll get the glass man over tomorrow...Anyway, the Duct Tape's still in place..."