To stand on my back step and look at my back yard with the pecan tree overshadowing the patio on one side and my Japanese Garden on the other gives me a feeling of peace and contentment and assures me all is well and that I am still in my 46 year old home despite my 87 years and the possibility that I might not be strong enough to live here alone much longer.
The pecan tree is still covered with leaves, but in a month the leaves will gradually sift down to cover the pink Impatiens bed below and the brick patio. It will mean hard work to gather the leaves and put them safely and gladly into the compost pile where the hungry microbes will turn them into rich, black friable dirt. My compost pile is the heart of my garden.
Right now the rains have come after a wiltingly hot summer. The Hibiscus plants are drinking their fill joyously and sending out flamboyant orange blossoms. The Bougainvillea is outgrowing its large pot with spreading arms of red blossoms. Two squirrels are chasing each other up the tree. Here and there a few blackbirds peck at the grass, and a couple of mourning doves stroll about together.
As I stand holding onto the railing on my back porch, with one hand and with my cane in the other hand, I take a breath of fresh morning air, sniff the pungent basil growing nearby and the rosemary which has grown for many years to be a spreading bush. I feel secure and happy in my garden, my outside home.