Consumed by “duty” I was going to go to Lowes for more 2×4’s to finish the new grape arbor but my Muse, you know who you are, said, in so many words, “Write.”
OK, if you insist, I’ll put down the truck keys and lumber list and you
come in and look out the window with me at the 3 baby robins snuggled in their nest
under the eaves, they’re so fat I don’t know how they fit — and they seem unwilling to
venture up and test their wings, as do I, timidly, now.
Ok, if you insist, pour a cup of coffee and let’s go outside, bare feet on
the scratchy concrete, then to the titillating green grass
and look to the left, clusters of grapes protected under the eaves, and the red-headed
finch atop the sunflower feeder, bees already working the purple flowers in the sage.
Ok, if you insist, see the hundreds of green peaches the hail thrashed to the ground,
each one now a tear from me — and the garlic, stripped, tomato and pepper plants
shredded by hail’s shrapnel. All the maple leaves on the ground — so much more destroyed
but now half as many leaves to rake in fall. Ha. Ha. Why did you fun-punch my shoulder?
If you insist, listen with me, to that trickle, bubbling, the secret streams filling the well of
my spirit, and that delicious pinch of basil at the nose, an almost orgasmic awakening of the senses and as we peruse the rest of the garden, inspect the footer for the new stucco wall, see the Charley Brown plum tree with three plums left, know that I felt deeply your touch and because you insisted. . .
Oh! The heart of it all. Thank you.