If you funnel yourself down through the layers of mountain, highway and concrete you reach me at the end, a quiet, small presence just around the corner from a windswept park, just along the edge of a cliff that drops to the ocean below. Not my ocean, again, as I've reassured myself a million times, maybe more, but good enough for now.
It is there that the lilacs opened for the first time this morning, and I stuck my whole face into a bloom and was surprised by a bee just minding his own business. He kissed my lashes, bounced off my face a couple of times and moved along.
Cole is the bee. There's always one drifting around the edges of my journeys around the yard.
I planted some stray ferns that escaped the woods, some mint and some leftover sunflower seeds by the (broken) gate. The old one that separates the side yards around the front of the house and past the porch. It is decorative and hardly functional and yet with wildflowers coming up all around it it looks incredible. Some of the larkspur grows there too, and daisies and a foxglove or two.
Caleb frowns at it. We'll have it replaced this weekend. Or maybe just removed. It dates the property just a little bit.
Leave it.
It's rotten, Bridget. The wood is so weathered-
I love it.
He watches me, a study in walking cognitive dissonance and I refused to meet his gaze. Instead I watch the bee and I wonder why it doesn't bother him.
You always did love those little pockets of unexpected beauty. What did you call them when you were little?
Things To Paint.
Ah, yes. Things to paint. Are you going to get your supplies and come out to paint this?
Maybe I will. We'll see.
It is there that the lilacs opened for the first time this morning, and I stuck my whole face into a bloom and was surprised by a bee just minding his own business. He kissed my lashes, bounced off my face a couple of times and moved along.
Cole is the bee. There's always one drifting around the edges of my journeys around the yard.
I planted some stray ferns that escaped the woods, some mint and some leftover sunflower seeds by the (broken) gate. The old one that separates the side yards around the front of the house and past the porch. It is decorative and hardly functional and yet with wildflowers coming up all around it it looks incredible. Some of the larkspur grows there too, and daisies and a foxglove or two.
Caleb frowns at it. We'll have it replaced this weekend. Or maybe just removed. It dates the property just a little bit.
Leave it.
It's rotten, Bridget. The wood is so weathered-
I love it.
He watches me, a study in walking cognitive dissonance and I refused to meet his gaze. Instead I watch the bee and I wonder why it doesn't bother him.
You always did love those little pockets of unexpected beauty. What did you call them when you were little?
Things To Paint.
Ah, yes. Things to paint. Are you going to get your supplies and come out to paint this?
Maybe I will. We'll see.