Every Tuesday, since 2016, the same man showed up at our house with his old push mower. He never knocked on the door, never asked permission, never said a word. He didn’t wear earbuds, didn’t wave, didn’t make small talk. He simply mowed the lawn with steady precision, week after week.
He moved around the rose bush like it was sacred. He always skipped the back corner. And, without fail, he stopped after exactly 42 minutes. My family never hired him, yet he came like clockwork, turning our front yard into his weekly ritual.
For years, we never questioned it too deeply. My mom thought maybe he worked for the county. My dad shrugged and said, “Let him do it. He’s not hurting anyone.”
Once, we offered him water. He nodded politely but never drank it.
And then, after nearly a decade of quiet lawn care, everything changed.
A Strange Morning Visit
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