Between
Three thoughts
I open up the side porch, and sweep up all the winter dirt. The dogs and I sit in the sun, listening. Isabela, hopeful that she can magically transport herself next to the rabbit on the lawn, thrills an undertone growl and pants.
The earth is beginning to wake up. Daffodils bloom, and birds sing and sing. I am half hibernating between projects. A new work soon? A melody drifting towards me?
I have, over the years, tried everything to keep the squirrels from eating all the peaches and apples from my trees. Cayenne pepper, squirrel repellents, fake plastic owls, and rubber snakes were useless. Netting over the branches heavy with fruit only peaked their interest, a puzzle to solve, something to chew through. Finally I learned that the gossamer gift party bags were the perfect protection against the hungry invaders. Testing it, I put each fruit in a bag and secured the draw string around the branch. The next morning my lawn was littered with half eaten bags and no fruit. The squirrels, I am sure, are still chuckling over it.
Between the fire bush and the old dogwood, is a soft curve of my garden. Hidden in a tangle of vines and blackberries, I return yearly to cut back the kudzu, Virginia creeper and Japanese honeysuckle, and oriental bittersweet. These are the most invasive and persistent of species, and their roots stretch under all my plants and trees, too deep to dig out. Instead I come back in this annual ritual.
Hot and tired, I sit in the circle of grass. Here in secluded spot is my Grotto of the Virgin, or at least a place where I hope she would be comfortable. I close my eyes and imagine her visiting some cool evening when the fireflies are out.
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Let Your Heart Be Broken, Life and Music from a Classical Composer
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Broken-Classical/dp/1633376974