a plea for scythes

It was just after the rain that I left my house and found to my great dismay the beheaded body of a snake on the sidewalk. Commonly called brown snakes they are really copper colored with markings one might find on only the most delicately detailed oriental rugs. I got to know this family of snakes---I say 'family' for I would often find the offspring in my garden when we were well into April. The newborn were no bigger than my little finger and would stay in your hand for as long as you had the time. I am very conscious of these reptilian friends and I wish I could communicate to them that as long as they stay in my garden no harm will come to them. But they often go to the neighbor's yard who has a lawn to keep. The internal combustion engine is not like a scythe that has a meditative rhythmn that encourages patience. Rather the modern machines encourage efficiency. On finding my reptilian friend I am even more confirmed in my plea for scythes and my distaste for the modern machine that cannot discern either the tufts of flowers or the slumbering snake while it races over its labor, sparing nothing in its path.