Cut Grass

As I finished mowing the grass the other day, it hit me that something about a freshly mowed lawn strikes me as beautiful.

It's not the feeling of accomplishment - that's certainly present, but there's something different going on there too. Something like an appreciation of beauty. Something in a primitive, visceral part of my brain.

It probably hearkens back to humanity's origins on the savannah, when primitive man first created the lawnmower (aka a domesticated sheep?).

I don't know what or why. I just know I really like looking at the grass after I cut it.