a color story: the orange excalibur

I figured them out. I felt confident with the chainsaws. If the chainsaws didn't seem fit, I applied the lubricant oil. If the chain didn't seem to work, I unscrewed the cover and rearranged the chains. If the edge felt dull, then I replaced it with another one. For every issue the chainsaw brought up, I managed to find an answer.

The free tree fee opportunity at our local disposal site lasted till Saturday. Our dull motivation, immigrant instinct kicked in as we usually paid for the disposal services. Every dollar we saved was a dollar earned.

But, the orange gas-powered chainsaw brought up an issue. It cried as it figured out our motifs. The craft of the tree cut seemed to wane and we became more careless on the act. After three 20 minutes sessions, the chainsaw wasn't able to operate. Did I overheat the engine? I let it cool - tried another go on the strong machine. But it didn't wake up. I pulled and pulled the rope. Then, I tried out every trick in my book: held down the choke a little longer, safety off then back on, and my personal favorite just filling both the oil and gas. My frustration with the chainsaw turned into a workout and I managed to blister my right pointing finger even with the gloves on. 

I laughed as my ego shriveled into a sliver of humility. My mind alluded to a super hero / god, Thor. I wasn't worthy of the chainsaw. My motivations didn't align with the chainsaw's responsibility and power. This situation also shared parallels with King Arthur's excalibur in a stone. Could the chainsaw detect my change in motivation? Did I not listen to Tokugawa's advice on tightening my helmet after the battle was won? Or did I simply just over run the engine?

The following days ensued shorter gardening sessions and today I almost didn't do a gardening chore. Did the small finger injury provide enough resistance to alter my day to day?

I lost my war with the chainsaw and translated a lack of outdoor enthusiasm. The wet grass was enough to stay indoors. The minor cut in my finger required 'full' attention in healing. Bug bites itched, all of a sudden.  And verbal discouragements inflicted my guerilla gardening attitude. 

The gas-powered chainsaw incident alluded- not of a safety measure with the orange cover- towards my darker impressions of orange. I faced the impressions of change (pictured).

I found time to meet my indoor duties and wiped the stationary with a yellow disinfectant spray. The email reminder that my user account affiliated with the bike flashed in my mind; I could lose the data if I don't jump back in. 

Sure be my guest. I returned finding more indoor work and replaced the band aid on my cut finger.