Steve has two tables in his kitchen. There is the larger central table where meals are served, but against the wall near a window there is a smaller table and that’s the one that holds my attention at this moment. Sunlight pours through the window. A variety of plants bask in the warmth. Steve’s rosemary bushes. A mug of basil. A rather mutant African Violet, a gift from a friend, that he refuses to replant … he’s hoping it will break free of its clay pot, and like the plant in the Rocky Horror Picture Show, start shouting, “Feed me!” Then there’s a clear glass vase of lemon yellow mums and a red pot of soon-to-bloom paperwhites. Tucked here and there beneath the foliage small jewel-colored glass votives, a green bowl filled with oranges, and an empty mason jar that held sliced strawberries just yesterday.
Above the plants, through the window, the sky is the lightest blue. Seagulls fly all around, as do flocks of sparrows and pigeons. The hawks are not nearby. A gentle wind rocks the branches of the oak tree next to the house, and those of the maples across the street. It is still winter, of course, so far too soon, the sun will set spectacularly, casting a warm golden light across the kitchen walls. And then, even before I can race to grab my camera, everything will disappear into shadow. For a little while.
A beautiful fall day. I sit at my computer staring through the window at sunlight shining down on the oak tree. I have many projects to work on, either for myself or for clients. Yet all I want to do is curl up in a quilt with a cup of something warm and watch the tree branches dance in the wind.
Words + Images 