She was relaxed that day, and allowed herself to watch things pass. Two mourning doves called to one another and she thought she understood their secret code, twenty sugar ants efficiently devoured a dead pill bug. She saw the necessity of the dead things, and knew that they had to be picked clean. One of the ants valiantly tried to carry off an entire portion of the insect’s shell; it even managed to haul it halfway across the concrete patio before getting marooned on a sea of maple helicopter seeds.
“More reason to run the leaf blower out here.” she thought.
She also thought about how every pillow, dishtowel, knickknack and throw blanket she bought lately had been a certain shade of green. Her yard at this time of year was choked with that shade, thanks to the honeysuckle bushes, which were blossoming and beginning to perfume the patio. The dogwoods had already lost their pink and white blossoms but the azaleas had quickly picked up their slack, and dripped fuchsia all over the grass. But most everything else was green, and it surrounded her like fog.
When they lived in Alaska she had craved green, and had bought a new house plant every time she went grocery shopping. Even now, tucked in the south, green bleeding around her, her thirst for it hadn’t abated. Green meant growing, green meant life, green meant that all was not lost yet.