My landlord likes to mow down my flowers. What started a few years ago as a careless pass over some newly sprouted seedlings culminated last summer in the full-on massacre of my flower bed.
I’d spent months cultivating a wall of morning glories, training the vines from the chain-link fence in the front yard onto a railing going up the front steps — the pink, purple, blue, and white flowers a happy greeting upon arriving home after many a weary day. Inside the chain link, I’d nurtured a tribe of sunflowers, diligently watering and anticipating the day when their buds would finally open. The neighbors often commented on how beautiful the flowers were. In a flash, they were all gone, hacked and chopped to bits, months of growth scattered in the dirt.