The Write-In: Day 3
Today I abandoned my attempts to try something different. I settled for my back deck. The mid-morning sunshine hid behind the second story of our home, making the wind a little more chilly. I watched the steam drift off my cup of coffee. The distance carried sounds of bustling cars; people eager to be out on the first sunny day of spring.
With my wife away, I felt this was a great opportunity to sit alone and enjoy our yard. I took my time, watching robins hop in the grass. Squirrels clawed up tree branches. Circling above me was our resident red tail hawk. Affectionately I refer to her as Xena: The Warrior Hawk. Her screech has become one of the most welcoming sounds of a Saturday morning.
The wildlife in our yard is abundant for a plot nestled in the middle of a city. Two red foxes pass through frequently. They either live in the back patch of woods, or simply use our yard as part of their traveling route. My son named one of them, Firefox. I’ve never personally seen it, but my wife claims there is a groundhog that waddles around the tree line every now and then.
Smiling to myself, I’m reminded of the reason we bought the house in the first place. There’s this thing that happens when you’re looking for a new home. After seeing several, you begin to realize just what you want, and what you can tolerate. If you asked me, I’d tell you our house practically spoke to us. We clicked, the way you click with someone you instantly recognize will be a life-long friend.
There’s something about our property. The neighborhood could be better, sure. The city itself could be better. Somehow none of that seems to matter. There’s a bit of magick that lives within the border of our trees. It begs you to curl your bare toes in the soil. To fall to your knees and smell the sea of purple grown out of the clover. To listen to the creaking of trees, and be reminded just how insignificant you really are.
I don’t think I’ll be writing much today. The dirt is calling my hands to till the earth.