My wife and I sat out on our deck tonight.
It was the first time this year that we got out.
I was smoking a Punch Churchill cigar from Havana and working on three fingers of Ouzo, Pamela was sipping her favorite cocktail; the Rum Swizzle.
Life was good under the all too welcome night sky.
We listened to the singing birds as they drifted off to sleep one by one.
The world grew quiet, as did we.
Conversation trickled in as we talked about our work, the girls, the plants she bought for the undressed backyard; plants she wished she’d bought years ago.
As I scanned the backyard I saw hostas, numerous impatiens and a lone crimson azalea filling in the once empty landscape; it all looked so impossibly gorgeous.
Pamela planted some Bleeding Hearts and Columbine on the side of the house; courtesy of a Home Depot gift card from a dear friend after my mom died.
Out of death, comes life and remembrance, I thought.
My wife has a green thumb and I’ve no doubt these beautiful plants will thrive, much like the daughters she’s been so carefully nurturing all these years.
She tells me, don’t touch the lavender, but I can’t help myself, and I do.
The pure scent of the herb is one of my favorites in her garden.
I smell the fragrance in the palm of my hand and breathe in the royal purple richness of it. And it’s good because it reminds me of her soul; her kindred spirit.
The little garden continues to grow into a place of respite for me; an indelible spot to remember the wonders, loves and most vital things in my life.
And for just a moment, I’m the richest man in the world.
(journal soundtrack: Bobo Stenson – Goodbye )