my quiet place

 

I am lucky enough to have a backyard where greenery tells a story. The lush curtain of vines crawling down the fence and onto the brick foundation holding her up then connects with even more intricate tendrils paving their way down the garage, each one coming together and culminating into a luscious bath of leaves congregating and kissing each other. Most halt before they reach the grass, though a bold stray strand has begun to creep along the stone steps and reaches tenderly out for a greeting with the grass. The vines tell my home's age, and time here in Fort Worth, as does the mothering oak tree who extends her branches welcomingly over my neighbor's fence and into my yard, keeping me under her wing and protecting me from sun rays. Her branches and their leaves produce a dappled sunlight on me and my journal, but leave a patch of light just great enough for my Venus Fly Trap to photosynthesize under. The tree is also a playground for squirrels, who just moments ago startled me with their incessant arguing, flying up and down from branches to the roof to the fence, squealing and chasing each other all the way. My thoughts were again interrupted by my neighbor, a small fluffy singing bird (who I believe to be a warbler, though Dr. Dan suggested a finch or a sparrow) perched on my fence. His friends and family soon joined him, generating an echoing chorus for me to enjoy while I drank my morning coffee. They sang in succession, the conversations overlapping slightly and underscored by the rustling of leaves and quiet flapping of tiny wings as they hopped around in the trees overhead.

My quiet place is not so quiet--rather, it is quieting, calm, and peaceful, and I am inspired to spend every morning here in my little sanctuary.