The Turf That Wasn’t Coming (But Apparently Bully Knew About It and decided to block the delivery!)…
Last Sunday, my son helped clean up the turf mull. Not in a dramatic, life-changing way. No violins. No speeches. Just one of those quiet, practical jobs that need doing where I live. A sweep, a tidy, a small reset. Done and dusted.
Now, anyone who knows the rhythm of things around here knows turf doesn’t just arrive. It has a pattern. A habit. A sort of unspoken agreement with Saturdays and early mornings and the sound of a tractor before you’ve had your tea.
But here’s the thing.
I hadn’t ordered any. Not a word was said. Not a call made. Not even a half-plan forming in my head yet. Just a clean space and the vague thought of “I’ll sort that soon”.
And yet…
A trailer appeared this morning. Just like that. Sitting there. Parked up as if it had a purpose. As if it had received instructions. As if somewhere, somehow, a meeting had taken place about turf… that I was not invited to. Now maybe I’m wrong.
Maybe trailers just wander in of their own accord. Maybe they sense freshly cleaned mull from miles away. Maybe there’s a secret turf hotline I don’t know about, where these things are arranged behind the scenes. It’s possible.
But standing there, looking at it, I had the strangest feeling. Not of help.
Not a coincidence. Just that quiet, creeping sense that something had been… noted. Filed away. Acted on. Without a single word being spoken.
And that’s the thing about small moments like this, they don’t shout. They don’t cause scenes. They don’t give you anything solid to point at and say, “There. That’s it.” They are just sitting there. Just like a trailer in a yard.
Waiting.
I haven’t ordered turf.
There’s no delivery coming.
No plan in place.
No reason for anything to be waiting.
And yet…
There it sits.
Like it knows something I don’t.
Or worse, like someone does.
Because the turf wasn’t coming.
But somehow…
Bully’s trailer was ready for it.
Mae🧡
Related Post: The Pattern Behind the Behavior…
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