Monday, June 8, 2020
Never has so much danger been afoot in The Twin Cities where I live and roam.
Lawless police run rampant, attacking, bullying, and killing people.
Looters ransack stores, smash windows, and burn down buildings.
The most deadly new disease in decades, maybe a century, stalks the city, everywhere, traveling on the mere breath of our fellow human beings, killing thousands of people and sickening so many more.
But there is nothing more threatening, more terrifying, more savage and menacing than...
THE FLOWER SPY!!!!
"Hey. What's that you're doing there?"
"Oh, sorry. I was just taking a picture of your flowers." The flower spy answers.
He is squatting on the sidewalk. His alarmingly fancy looking camera is pointed down and into the flowers on the boulevard strip. Dangerously absorbed in minute details, in holding the big lens steady, in the flow of sunlight, he doesn't see them coming.
"I thought you were photographing my lawn." They say suspiciously.
"No. Your flowers. They are very pretty." He responds.
They grant him that, reluctantly. Though they think, maybe, it would be better if the flower spy were photographing their lawn. At least it would make sense. The lawn is the measure of the yard, the flowers are just...
Odd. Divergent. Transgressive.
Oh, he is the flower spy.
Lock your doors.
Hide your cats.
Dig up your bulbs.
That's it. Yes! Only lawns can stop him.
Perfect, perfect lawns. Only lawns can stop him!
He is everywhere.