In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Through the Window.”Go to the nearest window. Look out for a full minute. Write about what you saw.
It’s early. The sun hasn’t completely risen. All is painted with an August palette of toasted greens and straw colored yellows, muted by the morning shade.
Pup is curled up outside the sliding door. She looks up hopefully as I stare outside. Not yet, pup. Not until I’ve finished my coffee.
The hummingbird feeder hangs silently on its hook. Lately it’s been a popular gathering place, drawing more and more hungry customers each week. It will soon have thumb sized birds swooping and buzzing around it, competing for space at the bar.
The riding lawnmower rests in the lawn, the bags hanging like heavy udders behind it where I left them in my dusty haze yesterday. I don’t know that the thrill of only emptying the bags twice made up for stirring up all of the dust on the dry lawn. I don’t think so.
Two plastic Adirondack chairs look over the field toward the sunset, where last night I sat with my budding guitarist daughter as we sang under the stars, me cuddled under a soft blanket, the small solar light filtering through a small Japanese maple. In the deck planters, sleeping African daisies, petals closed, wait for the warmth of the new morning.
Dry leaves dot the newly sheared lawn. The giant maple tree is sending us silent signals that its time is up. The sweet shade will be hard to part with, but the tree has been known just to give up and drop its branches without much warning.
The field behind the house, though in years past would be dry, post-harvest stubble at this point, was newly planted this year and holds onto its green nibs in spite of the drought. No extreme fire danger for once.
Tall weeds mock me from the fence line, dry testaments to the wandering nature of plant life. I’m going to need gloves and a wheelbarrow.
As I take my final sips of coffee, there is a hush over the world as it takes its final sweet sleeping breaths before awakening to life.
Alright pup, I’m coming.