So when I brag,
I try to sound just a little sad…
it works out better that way.”
The woman dreamed of a back fence. You know the kind. A visiting place. A space would remain without flowers so visits are possible when the neighbors are in the mood. The width of the visiting space on both sides of the fence would tell a lot about the neighborly relationship. She wanted a wide space, maybe an arbor that invited a few minute to share with another woman.
She yearned for the time when neighbors were forever…the house was bought when the children were young. A time when you knew who the neighbors were and could count on them being there…always.
If the neighbors were older and the time came when the house next door was vacant, she could choose a new neighbor and encourage a purchase. Like the house she lived in, the resident would be selected and guided to move closer. That was what she wanted.
She could see the sun filtering through the trees and the white picket slats. The back yard would hold a clothes line, always used on Monday. Zinnias would grow around the edge and Four-o-Clocks would bloom fragrant on a summer’s eve. The garden at the back of the small garage would grow tomatoes and cucumbers. A swing would hang from the maple tree. Children and then grandchildren would swing, taking turns while the neighborhood boys played hoops in front of the garage. An old kitchen chair leaning against the house would welcome a few minutes of rest in the shade.
The woman dreamed of a place like this. A fence, a swing, a clothes line, children and a garden. She needed to visit and watch and grow things in the earth. Her talent was to nurture that life. When evening came, the house would be beautifully inviting as she sat in its warm glow and wrote about people she had known and the stories they had to tell.
She thought she would not brag about her fence or her yard. She would want people to think she was humble. But in her heart she would know that her life was perfect.