The Day the Mower Lost

As I cling to the rough and knotty trunk of the magnolia tree, I have a clear view of him, the cardboard box and the dusty carport. His movements are slow and deliberate, but begin to quicken as the sound of tearing cardboard and the clank of tools that hit the concrete floor. The falling evening sun glints off his tools and the shiny metal pieces of the mower. I shift and grasp tighter the branch in my grip. It is almost imperceptible at first, but intense enough to quicken the pace of my heart. I clench tighter with all of my limbs and brace. Now, my heartbeat holds steady, yet I am trembling. The sounds swell and chaos breaks loose. The man’s cursing mixes with metal crashing to the concrete under the hammer’s blows. Metal gives way, pieces scattering until nothing is left. The mower lies collapsed in silence, the chaos falling away.