i live in a small place, only big enough for a little girl. it is like a doll house. it is in a garden. a shady, green and magical garden that has overgrown with enthused abundance. it is secluded. the garden is full and beautiful and has been there forever. there are more flowers near the house which i tend to myself. it is warm and sunny here and the light always floods in the windows in glorious shafts that crinkle my white curtains. further from the house it gets shadier and there are tall, sweet smelling eucalyptus trees and spanish feather trees and the ones with the thick trunks and low branches for reading. there is a patch of daisies in the back. they were my mother's favorite and mine too. i sit in them and weave them into the edge of my sleeves and sometimes i feel a little ladybug dancing on my shoulder. a ways off there is an old swing of wood and strong twine and every couple of years you come and have to fix it just like every couple of years you have to repaint the house. we always laugh and have a grand time and sip sweet tea and nibble the sugary bread that crumbles. the fountain on the side of the house doesn't work and i can't remember it ever working. there is a layer of moss and water for the birds. there are some stretches of beautiful green shaded grass a number of paces from the house of the left side. that's where the picnics always are...in those hidden areas. brought in a basket and eaten on that huge soft quilt i use for everything. my friends come over sometimes. we forget our worries, eat lots and laugh too much. the warmness of the sun overflows to the warmness of ourselves. we lay on the soft quilt and hold each other, giggling, and the daisies tickle our noses. and its perfect.
-22 march 2007 lyon, france