FOR SURE
One thing for sure, . . .
Start again.
“Everything used to be so easy,” she said.
Her place was so overgrown. In sort of a creative way. Bushes grew too high. Vines climbed up trees and hung over the yard, making a large pavilion. The lawn was mown and neatly edged. She had been a teacher and was now somewhat overweight. The filtered light was subtly green and I could imagine a comfortable ease living in this circled dream, remarkable for existing just a few feet apart from the usual blah. I almost envied her delusion. It was a success.
A new gardener was not what she really wanted, that was soon evident, but rather just someone to talk with. What we discussed is long since forgotten and wasn't all that important anyway. What remains is the feeling we shared in recalling impossible times that don't matter whether or not they actually happened.
I gave her a good price, we laughed, we said goodbye.
