Surviving The City
Today is breezy, just like being on the coast, in the beach house watching bushes dance and birds swoop around the skyline.
Only here, there aren't seagulls and sandpipers. They are hawks and robins.
On days like today, I like to sit out in my patio, reading and writing, pretending that I'm looking out over the ocean. Sometimes the tide is out, and children are laughing with their kites. other times I can hear the waves, and in the new epitome of summer, people are lazing, nodding off in the sunshine, sure to be red and glistening before long.
I do not see the brick wall stretching upward, and blocking my horizon.
What I do see is the haven we have created inside of this brick sterility. Tomatoes grow round amongst the peppers. Chamomile is coming out of bloom. Sunflowers droop as the pumpkins decide whether they will move beyond flowering. Basil, horehound, sage, and feverfew stand proudly beside the dying pansies, still struggling to survive. Peas wind skyward near the bird feeder, while the wind chime hums its song.
We are not city gardeners. We let the weeds come in.
And here, amongst the butterflies that fill our garden, I find peace in the ocean breeze.
Only here, there aren't seagulls and sandpipers. They are hawks and robins.
On days like today, I like to sit out in my patio, reading and writing, pretending that I'm looking out over the ocean. Sometimes the tide is out, and children are laughing with their kites. other times I can hear the waves, and in the new epitome of summer, people are lazing, nodding off in the sunshine, sure to be red and glistening before long.
I do not see the brick wall stretching upward, and blocking my horizon.
What I do see is the haven we have created inside of this brick sterility. Tomatoes grow round amongst the peppers. Chamomile is coming out of bloom. Sunflowers droop as the pumpkins decide whether they will move beyond flowering. Basil, horehound, sage, and feverfew stand proudly beside the dying pansies, still struggling to survive. Peas wind skyward near the bird feeder, while the wind chime hums its song.
We are not city gardeners. We let the weeds come in.
And here, amongst the butterflies that fill our garden, I find peace in the ocean breeze.