Four lines of prose about: the machine.
Today was berry day. We used a rented rototiller to finish weeding around the strawberries in preparation for spreading wood shavings around them, we pruned and weeded around the raspberry bushes, and pruned the blackberry bushes.
Now they look domesticated again, instead of some wild bushes you might find on an abandoned lot. Tomorrow we spread the wood shavings... which I suspect will be a major pain. Hopefully the sun comes out to make things more enjoyable.
There were so many shiny buttons, and none of them were labelled. He resisted for as long as he could - which wasn't very long at all - before pushing the big blue button on the top. At least, he thought it was the top; he really had no way of knowing if he had the machine right side up or not.
But that was the last thing on his mind once the machine began speaking to him in his dead grandfather's voice.