Personification is a process of imbuing lifelike characteristics upon inanimate objects, or something like that… all seemed a bit fuzzy, neither mechanical, nor orderly. These humans are known to be our makers and yet, as my unattached collection bag attests, this individual evidently knew little about my kind. Still, he seemed to possess intelligence as he clasped my handle and spoke words of power, “Show me, Mower!” sending sensory perception, so foreign to me, flooding over my surface as some sort of awakening took place … imagery filled my new-found consciousness as this strange being tried to reassure me with thoughts of a race, just as alien to him, known for longevity, prosperity, angular appearances, and most applicable here, a technique of thought transfer facilitated by touch. No matter how reportedly logical the race in question, nor however great some of their representatives have become in the minds of these humans, this exchange seemed disturbingly irrelevant to me as a mower – until it occurred to me that for this gift of awareness the man simply wanted insight in return, on the subject of lawn care, for which we mowers are engineered. Around us I now perceived the reason for my existence, “Raison d’être” came the words tumbling from his mind, and I wondered how much effort these creatures must waste on communication to spend so little time on the upkeep of their environment, for the area was overrun with foliage. He seemed to sense that my consent to continued endurance of this bizarre mental ordeal was wholly subject to engaging my underlying drive to combat the encroaching growth of vegetation. In unspoken agreement, the man pulled my starter cord, accompanied by another annoying flash of insight, this time a vision of a furry, four-legged anatomy reacting adversely to the manipulating of an appendage called a tail. Relieved to find this was not overly discomforting, we began. My blades sprang to life, yet I found myself reliant upon his push, and inside I wished my maker had deemed me worthy of self-propulsion as some other models. Together we cleared the beginnings of a path through this place he referred to as the back yard. Then, as he pulled an object, which he deemed a cell phone, from his pocket, we paused for him to capture images of our progress. The concepts of clothing, mobile communications, digital photography and chronicling one’s day – all novel to me – were still just irritating distractions from the grass around us. This human considered it all very important though, claiming significance for the height of the grass towering beside me, declaring our efforts against it were all the more worth recounting later to his fellows, and finally continued pushing me along. With him back on track, we quickly made short work of clearing the area. I experienced only slight interruptions while he dragged loose branches away and dodged a few strawberries, again recording for posterity. The wood was beyond the scope of my design, so I conceded the need for its removal, and the berries were an oddity he chose to leave to feed other creatures he referred to as rabbits and squirrels. When we finished, the ground showed standard lines of demarkation from the path we had taken. I had done my best to trim the grass to tolerable levels and, still awaiting attachment of my collection bag, was forced to mulch the greenery as we went. I admit I was unable to mow some along the fence, but I glimpsed thoughts of a companion creation similar to myself, named weed eater in the human’s mind, that would be tasked with finishing those edges. In the corner, near his neighbors, still stood plants behind a barricade also beyond my reach. It seems those weeds would need pulled by hand if they proved too much for the other machine too. The day was hot, and the time had come for this man to stop. Soon we would tackle another portion designated the front yard, hopefully without the added burden of this cumbersome altered existence. Mowers, in my opinion, were never meant to think… but as my benefactor returned me to the shed he expressed his gratitude with the promise of many a gasoline refueling this season. He seemed so delighted, filled with thoughts about sharing the details of our day, and as his fingers slid off, my last insights were about a form of communication he referred to as blogging, and the identity of the human, who is called Stoney.
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