Weird Shorts | Page 7

her writing, but
then she stopped. He had finished the tea and probably needed to get
back to work, and most likely he really wouldn't be interested anyway.
"I'll let you get back to your work." She picked up the glasses and
walked toward her own yard.
"Thank you kindly, Missy," he called as he stood and walked back to
his mower.
Soon it became a ritual, the tea-making and talking at the picnic table.
The visits lengthened to ten, then fifteen minutes. The two glasses of
tea grew to include the entire pitcher, and cookies became an additional
refreshment. They spoke of current events, religion, books, TV shows.
The old black dude was well-read and had vivid opinions on almost
every subject.
And one Thursday morning Andrea screwed up her courage to ask the
question, "So what do you think about while you mow people's yards?"
"Well, Missy, sometimes I make up stories about the families, and
sometimes I build a beautiful garden in their yards, but mostly I run the
protection lines all around their houses."

"Protection lines? What are those?"
"Don't you see them, little Missy? The lines are strung all around."
Andrea looked around the yard. She didn't see anything unusual, so she
turned back to the old black dude.
He pointed at a tree and traced a line in the air. "See there where it runs
from tree to tree."
Humoring him, Andrea looked closely at the first tree. There was
nothing there -- except a faint, thin trace of color, perhaps
shoulder-height, winking in the sunlight. She looked to the next tree,
and there it was again. Suddenly she could see fine strands of color
weaving around the yard in intricate patterns, much like those artsy
pieces where colored threads were strung from pin to pin to form a
pattern or picture. Only here the pins were trees and shrubs and fence
posts and lampposts. Now that she knew what to look for, she saw a
virtual maze of variously-hued threads delicately intertwined to form an
incomprehensible but lovely design.
Amazed, Andrea turned back to the old black dude. He was smiling
broadly at her, obviously pleased that she could see his work.
"It's beautiful, sir, but what do they do?"
"They protect the family and the property. Each color has a specific
function, and every time I come to mow, I add another protection or
repair a broken thread."
"Protection from what?"
"The first one I lay is usually protection from vandals and thieves. Then
I add on from there -- storm damage, disease, even termites and other
pests." The old black dude's face shone in satisfaction and pleasure.
"There are many more kinds of protection I can lay."
Andrea turned her gaze to the neighbor's house on the other side of the

Hales' house. A few of the protection threads extended from the Hales'
yard over to the Whites' yard.
She said "But, sir, the Whites don't hire you to mow their lawn. Why do
some of the lines go into their yard?"
"The Whites are conscientious and caring people, and sometimes the
lines weave themselves over into other yards. Look at your own yard,
Missy."
Andrea peered at her backyard and saw that some of the same
protection threads ran here and there. But there were also other lines
made of colors unlike those in the Hales' yard, though just as beautiful,
looping gracefully around and around, forming a pattern distinctly
different from the one created next door by the old black dude.
"The protection lines are all over my yard," she exclaimed, "but the
pattern is very different from the one here."
"Yes, Missy, don't you understand? The protection pattern in your yard
is the one woven by your husband, and it is much more potent than
mine here. It's his home. He cares about it, and his protection is
instinctive, not conscious like mine. You're a lucky woman, little Missy.
I see he loves you deeply."
Andrea stood and walked to the fence, easily passing right through a
few of the old man's protection lines. Then she stepped through the gate
into her yard and reached out a finger to touch one of the fine threads
laid by her husband. She plucked it gently, and it thrummed, setting off
all the other threads until a substantial melody emerged, a joyous and
comforting tune.
She ran back to the picnic table and said, "Thank you, thank you so
much for showing me this."
He smiled at her, clearly pleased. Andrea gathered the remains of their
refreshments and walked back to her house, turning this way and that,
admiring the lovely web in her yard.

The young woman began to take walks through her neighborhood in
the cool of the morning, searching for the