One of my favourite things to do is crack open all of the levered windows in the pool enclosure until it's humid and cold and then take a nap in my favourite chaise out there, bundled in a serape, listening to the rain pour down outside. It's always dark and breezy and life is drowned out and maybe it's escapism and no one had any patience to sit there for an hour in total silence, even with a book or a podcast or a movie on Netflix so it was a three-times-a-year if I'm lucky kind of deal.
Asher is paid to have patience. He can sit for days and not say a word. Every so often, whether I am asleep or awake he will put his feet down from where he has them propped against a planter, and lean forward to pull the blankets up over my shoulder or tuck them around my hips. He doesn't say anything, he just looks after it. We've grown almost symbiotic here, with him able to anticipate needs before I recognize I have them, and he will ask if I'd like a cup of tea or a sweater or my shoes so I can check out the garden.
Don't worry, I still put in a full eight hours yesterday building a tiny shed in the corner of the orchard. It's far enough away from the house that we need things out there. A first aid kit will go inside. A compost bin and some hand tools so you don't have to go all the way back to the garage if you decide you want to garden or tidy up a bit, a fire extinguisher and yes, an epi-pen is included in the first aid kit. The shed has two levels and a moon cut out to match my little garden gate and a roof made of cedar shakes and Ben trimmed in a little fairy window that I can paint a scene in to show someone might be home. I'm thinking a mouse rocking her baby mouse by a roaring fire. Or maybe a fox sleeping in a bed.
Something dark and charming, anyway. That's the theme of my life.