She feels about being alone the way most people feel about chocolate.
Anna Quindlen, Lots of Candles, Plenty of Cake
I intend to speak to no one today except for my Yorkie, Maya. I will bathe in solitude and sunshine, spending an abundance of time on my deck with my manuscript, a notebook, and a favourite pen. And iced tea. Glass after glass of iced Tazo Zen green tea with just a splash of lemonade added.
I will sit on the ground at my front flower bed and observe the changing landscape—there, and in flowerpots in my yard and on my deck. I will see wonder amidst the flowers through the lens of my camera.
I will take a dish of coffee grounds out to my backyard garden and work them into the soil between rows of radishes and salad turnips. I will plant some Swiss chard.
I will, at some point, drive down the hill to the community garden to water. Satisfied with yesterday’s planting effort I will observe the changing landscape there too as I water and pluck stray dill and other weeds. I will pick enough spinach and radishes to make a small salad for my supper.
I will return to my deck, with a book and more tea, and escape into another world for a while until Maya’s stomach tells her it’s time for her dinner and she insists that I do something about it.
The day will unfold peacefully and quietly; I will go to bed early with a book and the window and door wide open.
And it will be well.