Flying down the road, absorbed in your thoughts,
as the beginnings of wildflowers peek out at the sun.
Out of reverie with a jolt – 
What is that smell?

Cutting the air like a knife,
breaking the spell.
Bemused searching eyes
look for the tell – 

And you see a man
riding on the green shoulder
of the road on a riding lawn mower – 
Mowing wild onions.

How many tears has he cried today?