On the Fourth of July, I was walking around my backyard with Biscuits and I mentioned to Mike how lovely everything is in our yard this time of year. Last year, I was dealing with the end of my perimenopause, migraines, a pandemic, and a slew of other issues. I had only recently started taking my antidepressants, so I was exhausted physically from the modifications.
I hadn’t seen the good yet. I was mentally and physically weary after all I’d gone through. Not being able to see my family and friends regularly made me feel as though I were alone on a deserted island. It’s quite dark when you’re in that space. Light simply does not pass through. It’s like trying to keep the sun shining through curtains of black felt.
Last July, I was the black felt curtains.
This year, I look out at my yard and see the big trees we planted the first fall we moved into our house. They are now 16 years old and they provide shade and privacy in addition to being majestic and gorgeous. I can see the playhouse in the corner near the fence that my daughters constantly joke about getting rid of, but I know they want it there as a reminder of their childhood. I do too.
I notice the fire pit that my husband lovingly built last spring, before my migraines began to worsen. The area where he sat alone last summer, listening to music and drinking beers. I’m sure he wondered where his wife had gone and perhaps a few prayers were whispered.
But this year, I see a space that we are jointly creating. I proposed that we make it a native wildflower garden/fire pit, combining both of our interests. So that when we sit out here together, roasting marshmallows, drinking our elixirs, and planning our future, we can see what we constructed on a budget with love, together.
From where I’m sitting, I can hear hope. The birds who sing cheerful tunes, the cardinals who make me feel like a superstar with their presence, the dogs who yip their hellos to each other over the fences, the children who play and laugh in the neighbor’s pool. I hear people on their patios speaking a variety of languages and listen to foreign music. It’s hypnotic and captivating and right.
I glance at the stain on the fence panel that resembles an angel. I like to imagine her (or him) protecting our yard and maybe even our lives. From where I’m sitting, it makes me feel like everything will be okay. Maybe it’s a false sense of security, or maybe it’s optimism. Something I haven’t had in a long time from where I’m sitting.
Tell me about the view from where you’re seated. This is when I wish you could share pictures to my comment section. But tell me about your views.