My yard is dead.

There is no way to avoid that fact.

After the days and weeks and months of back-breaking labor last fall to restore it after the sewage pipe was replaced, there is little to show for my efforts. Only the grading remains.

All of the money on the bags and bags of seed, all of the hours watering by hand...nothing remains. And because the grass is gone, the topsoil I laid is dried out and blowing around the yard.

All of the hours of watering this summer, all of the dollars on my bill...all for naught.

While now would be the ideal time to begin again with seed, the current drought would make that a foolish endeavor.

Is my yard a metaphor for other parts of my life? I am not sure. What I do know is that I find it difficult to walk up the pathway to my door and pass by the dead grass. I find it difficult to stand on my deck and look out upon my yard. I think about the photos I proudly took last spring with Kashi leaping about the green carpet that had grown from barren ground with a bit of sadness for what now remains.

I do not relish the thought of beginning again.

I am too tired for such labor...