Tuesday, July 9, 2013

...a garden.

Bernadette and Gail make me feel warm all over. They have the garden plots on either side of ours. I haven't been there at all this summer. It's David's garden. Farmer Dave.

They introduce themselves in a peaceful and non threatening way. "You must be David's wife. I'm Bernadette."

They say kind things and they don't even know me.

"How are you feeling?"

"David said you were under the weather"

"This barrel has more water"

"Don't strain yourself."

I looked over at the bench and garden table at the side of the plots under the tree. There is a mason jar half full of coffee with cream. And a couple of mugs. There are other people at the garden but I know this is theirs. They have set up home.

Their gardens are beautiful. They are harvesting lettuce and peas.

Our garden is sad. Rabbits ate the onion tops and I've kept David from the garden when he should have been planting and tending.

"Your garden will take off" Gail says. "You'll have tomatoes and squash."

She's too kind.

I wonder if they have pickles or buttered toast to have with their coffee.

"You look like no more than a student yourself" Gail says. I blush and laugh. I don't know what to say. I always know what to say. But it's peaceful. And slow and no answer seems needed.

I fill my watering can half way each time and walk slowly back and forth to our small plot. Swinging the can. The water sloshes. I try to decide where to water and where to walk. I'm in no rush. The sisters are in no rush.

There are teens with their dogs in the abandoned tennis courts across from the garden. They are peaceful. Happy. Quiet even.

Bernadette is smoking and pouring herself a coffee from the mason jar. Gail joins her. They are both wearing straw hats and denim shirts. I don't want to leave but I'm done watering. I can't stretch it out any longer. I turn and wave and call out "goodnight".

There's a lone hat on the picnic table in the park. The swings are still.

Someone will claim it tomorrow. When the park comes alive. When the children with their Popsicle sticky hands and wide eyes and unabashed friend making prowess descend on this place again.

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