09 February 2010

Gardening at night

I see it, small with second-story windows that peep out like eyes below the slant of the dark roof, set deep in a tree-filled retreat, hidden and green. A rose rambles along the rail of a wood fence, spilling blossom pink and fragrant. Other flowers gather near the door, by the gate, in window boxes, indistinct only because I haven't named them yet. The grass is deep and luxuriant, soft and velvet beneath my feet. The furnishings inside the cottage have been chosen for comfort and beauty. The chairs bid visitors to linger before the fire with a cup of tea or glass of wine, while the wooden tables invite the touch of a hand on their smooth and burnished surfaces. A cat--or four--curls on a cushion. The rooms are filled with books and light plays on old carpets in soft colors. The only sounds that break the silence are cat snores, the argument of a mockingbird, the fall of ash in the fireplace, the susurrus of wind playing through leaves.

I see it when I have weeks like this.

Go listen to some good music: "Gardening at Night" from the EP Chronic Town by REM.

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