My yard is carpeted in the fallen petals of wisteria and Tung. The bamboo jungle is enchanted.
The weeds abound everywhere. I could spend an entire week on my knees and perhaps I will. Elvis stands by the back steps of my office almost hidden by the springing-up phlox and some of those weeds.
The plastic flamingos, their wire stick legs long since lost to little boys' games, lie in hot pink embrace, cradled by ferns.
It is cool this morning, the air clear from yesterday's torrents of rain. When I went out to let the baby chicks out of their little shelter, they rushed me, then the door. They want out into the big world.
Not yet. The hawks are hungry and need to feed their own young. Everything that eats meat loves chicken and so they are confined to the coop for now. I am truly hoping that one of them, at least, is a rooster to help keep watch over the flock.
I drink my smoothie and voila! all of my fruits for the day consumed deliciously in one go. I am washing towels and will take my walk soon. I will mail the key I accidentally purloined from the place we stayed. I actually remembered to buy a padded mailer at the grocery store yesterday. A sort of miracle, truthfully.
Home. I am home. I slept so hard that I doubt I turned over once. Like the flamingos, I am cradled, not in ferns, but in this sweet, soft air of the place I live. Birdsong and rooster crow. I am here to tend it, I am here to breathe it in. I am here to relax in its embrace, the wisteria-festooned trees shelter and protect me. Last night I walked around and took pictures of beans and squash breaking ground, of the sturdy, healthy potato plants to send to my husband. He wrote me and said, "Are you happy to be home?"
I wrote back, "So happy I can't tell you."
I picked some white roses, their petals jeweled with rain drops. I put them in a little vase and sent him a picture of that, too.
"Our own little nest," he replied.
"Our own little kingdom," I answered. And it is so.
Love from the Kingdom and Nest of Lloyd...Ms. Moon