As Stephen and I reached our sixteenth anniversary, I went outside to the garden, where the years felt like leaves. Or vice versa.
It was also true that the leaves felt like leaves, but I was more prepared for this reality than the passing years.
Soon the garden was relatively tidy.
Patterns were now free to emerge and hypnotize.
I’ve been reading a lot of Edith Wharton lately, and today I noted a lovely description of old brick appearing like brushed velvet in the western sun. There may have also been something about golden lichen.
Inside, Dante relaxed after helping with the leaves.
Elektra stood guard against flying snakes, who sometimes make the mistake of trying to sneak into the house when the weather turns cold.
It was difficult to know exactly what Zephyr was thinking about, but it probably had something to do with velvet, the gilded sun, and the strange feeling we get when we consider the passage of time.
