Driving along the rolling hills between Bangor and Bucksport, I noticed green. Seconds later I got my first whiff of cut grass. Near the road a man was on the slant of a hill pushing something. At first I thought it might be one of those grass seed spreaders or push fertilizer mechanisms. The aroma that never seems to grow old confirmed that he was cutting his grass. A few doors down, two elderly men were talking as one sat on a ride-on mower while the other stood near. They were either contemplating cutting the grass or just taking a break.
Driving along with my driver-side window opened; heightens my senses of smelling and hearing, whether it be the smell of freshly cut grass, the clam flats as I cross the bridge or the sound of cardinal song as he is perched atop the highest branch. These experiences help me to appreciate the ever-changing cycle of time. Truly, we live in paradise.