I have an idyllic life.
I step out into the yard at night and hear the peepers and the water running and gaze at the stars and wonder at all who are beholding the same sight.
In the cool of the morning, the birds begin to stir and the gold finches captivate me. Ben says they shouldn’t be called ‘gold’ finches, but rather SCHOOL BUS YELLOW finches when he comes home one day having seen a flock of them.
In the heat of mid-day, I can practically watch my three precious tomato plants growing, a gift from a congregant who would take no money from me for them.
Randomly, I hear the laughter of children and remember Ali, who is about to graduate from high school, when she was four years old, jumping into my arms with the abandon and joy only children seem to know.
Girls camp under the wisteria, hidden from view in its cave recesses and giggle and I think of grandson Rowen and the look of wonder on his face when he first dared to enter the wisteria cave himself, a wee boy of three.
It’s evening now and the doves are cooing and I remember the white dove Max and I saw on the roof at the apartment in Baghdad. It was so still for so long, regarding us with such compassionate eyes, we were sure we had been visited by the Holy Spirit.
Everything is so connected and each thing reminds me of another. Each thing is a touchstone to a bit of the past and a gateway to the future – a future I cannot see. But I have no need. As I said, I have an idyllic life.