Worthy Witness

Her backyard is terraced with fill and stone.  Concrete, wood and stone walls hold back the dirt, imported at cost, that have helped to create the textures that embrace the luscious, shaded landscape of ferns and hostas, day lilies and others indigenous to deep woods flora and fauna.  There are ponds and a waterfall where she reads with summer’s breeze from the river lulling her to sleep.

Water and the whisper of winds commingle as butterflies and hummingbirds land on scarlet flowers. Redolent white roses and peonies perfume the air as do rosemary and mint when brushed.    Birds of all shape and color and nationality nest in the firs and hemlocks and take turns in their cacophony of sound.

Early morning, when she walks the gardens and lifts her hands in praise, the heron swoops along the riverbed, an ancient bird on a mission to unfettered ponds.  He returns in late afternoon, perhaps the original Phoenix, standing on a log in the river, waiting patiently for his prey.

Her riverbed is filled with stones laid smooth by the force of a surging waterfall above.  Its  sound from the rocks simulate Rachmaninoff in her muse.