simple things

We are sitting and talking about simple things.

Her skin is so fragile, her eyes have clouded, and she nods off as we sit. The New Mexico sun is leaving in the West coloring the Perdanales pink and purple.Colors that are only a memory for my friend.

I have just finished telling her of small things that have brought me joy. The day I awakened to a burden, just an off feeling, a tiredness from all my obligations. Did I really want to drive 74 miles to work and back? What purpose was there in handling employee whining and customer's woes ? What I really wanted was to sit on a log and just be.That's all. Is that too much to ask? You get the drift.Then I opened the side door to my small pocket garden. There she was, Catherine Woodbury, the most delicate of  lilies, opened and almost glowing like a pale pink light. Breathtaking. With that, I was O.K.

It happened again on another day. A simple thing I would never have noticed if I hadn't walked the yard. There in the crease of a dead log, a morning glory with two leaves grew. I was amazed. How did that small black seed get there ? And then I noticed that bud at the top.Once, a Johnny Jump Up amazingly blooming in a sidewalk crack on a hot August day.

My friend's eyes flutter and I tell her how her art has brought me to life. "Picturing you looking at your mountain in the dry desert air inspires me," I whispered. I knew as if it had been written in her memoirs that she savored simple things too. Why else would she paint a singular green leaf falling in front of her patio door.